Underlease
by BC
Summary: Slash! Harry used Dark Arts on himself, and now it's up to Professor Snape and Draco Malfoy to keep him alive. When Dumbledore unexpectedly opposes their goal, they are left with a single option: go to the Dark Lord.
1. Ghost stories

Disclaimer: Don't own the Potter series. Just a copy of each of the books.

Warnings: slash, sexual situations, insanity, violence, blasphemy

A/N: First ten chapters were edited with the help and guidance of the (great and very patient) **Katie** aka **shuichi'sgirl**. Thank you, Katie!

Chapter 1: Ghost stories

"Come on, Professor. This is something you should hear." An unsaid 'and act upon' remained hanging in the air. He stepped up and was about to, quite undignifiedly, put his ear to the door, when he realised it wasn't necessary. The voice carried well even through the wood, and filled the adjacent corridor. That was probably the reason why his Slytherins had noticed… well, punishments would be handed out later. If at all.

"I'm not arguing. I'm not saying that I don't deserve it."

Severus blanched. In his position he automatically expected the unexpected, but since the bathroom was for 'Ladies' he had somehow assumed that he was coming to the aid of a girl. This voice, however, was decidedly male. And not only that.

It was unmistakably Harry Potter's.

"I don't understand," replied a female, and this time Severus couldn't identify who the speaker was, until he remembered the ghost – the ghost of a girl who became involved in the mess around the Chamber of Secrets… of course _she_ would be acquainted to Potter.

"I… Look, I'll try to put it really simple. My life is quite screwed. But I believe… I believe that it should be screwed because of _my_ choices, not because someone fucked it up for me. I didn't even get a chance. Ever since the beginning… not a bloody chance."

Severus gulped and his eyes went wide. He never thought about the Potter boy from the other point of view. He, naturally, realised that the Golden Boy had to have some kind of personality, he just never expected it to be different from James Potter's. What he was listening to now didn't remind him of James Potter in the least. This was a troubled person – mentally no longer a child – that he could _relate_ to.

He frowned. He had a very vague idea of all the wrongs that were done to Harry Potter and that the boy rarely mentioned them, definitely not using them to seek attention (though he could have, and not even Severus would be able to rightfully scorn him for it), and most certainly trying to hush them up on occasion. Where James Potter would scream, Harry Potter remained silent. And the silence…

"Why not end it, then? If you never had the chance… I… I mean… I know what that's like. I would give you a chance. Gladly."

The statement interrupted Severus's train of thought and for a while his consciousness seemingly froze, unable to do anything but follow the conversation. Draco was staring at him expectantly, but he had no idea what the blond thought he would do. Go find Dumbledore or McGonagall maybe… But he couldn't force himself to leave.

Having thought about it, which should have come as a surprise but for some unspecified reason didn't, Potter replied: "Indeed. Why not."

"I offered before, Harry, the offer's still valid. You're welcome to share my bathroom." Severus's eyebrows shot up. He glanced at Draco, but the boy merely shrugged, as befuddled as himself. Potter let out a short, dry laugh that was obscenely wrong, coming from such a young person.

"We were so idealistic back then, weren't we…"

"Not me," the ghost replied indifferently. Potter chuckled.

"Not you. I think I understand you now, Myrtle."

"So, will you kill yourself? Will you stay here with me? Because I want to stay with you. Forever."

Severus's stomach turned over and for a while he thought he was going to be sick. He swallowed, tasting acid. Hearing two _children_ calmly talking like this, while he was aware that they _realised_ the full implications of what they said, was just morbid. He noticed that Draco's eyes were wide, incomprehensive. How sheltered a son of a Death Eater could be… not anywhere near as much as a normal child, but definitely more than either of those on the other side of the door.

"Do you promise?" Potter asked, and Severus could hear hope in his voice.

"I promise."

"Good. See you in a bit."

He was fairly sure that Potter was actually smiling when he said that last sentence. It bothered him more than anything, but then there was a muffled whispered _Sectumsempra_ and he had to act, lest Harry Potter's silence became permanent.

Cold, potion-stained fingers grasped the door handle and pushed. The door didn't move an inch, though the brass lock gave in easily, as if mocking his effort. He tried again, harder, then rammed his shoulder into the wood, but the only reaction he got was an upset shout of "Go away!" from inside. It was the ghost. Potter didn't react.

"Shit!"

Draco's jaw sank. It must have been the first time he had heard Severus curse like that. He was usually a very calm man, except for his encounters with the Boy Who Lived…

"Have you been taught how to deconstruct wards?"

"No, sir, they don't teach it at Hogwarts…" Of course they didn't – it was bordering on dark magic.

"Nor do they teach how to construct them," he grumbled. Potter once again proved to be more trouble then he was worth-Severus realised what he was about to think and mentally slapped himself, ashamed. This was not the right situation to criticise Potter – he should save that for when the little monster was safely sedated in the hospital wing.

Then, quite suddenly, a commotion was heard from inside, and he would have bet it was the sound of a body slouching to the ground.

"Harry?" inquired the ghost. Severus desperately launched at the door and… fell through. The wood banged into the wall and a high-pitched shriek resounded as Severus stuck his hands in front of himself to avoid having his nose broken yet again.

"Go away! Go away!" the ghost repeated. He ignored it, looking around. As if to stop him, the sinks overflowed all at once, and mercifully clean water spilt on the floor. He stood up before the swiftly widening flood reached him, only his boot and the hem of his robe coming into contact with it. Soft pink streams mixed with the transparent liquid; Severus followed it to its origin.

There was the Boy Wonder, probably slumped against the wall before, yet now lying on his side on the cold, wet tiling with one hand hidden under his torso and the other almost romantically placed a foot from his shoulder, palm downwards and fingers splayed. There was a clear space between his wrist and his forearm.

Severus almost gagged; let it never be said that the boy did anything halfway. Severing _his_ hand surely worked better than just cutting _his_ veins. It reminded the Potions Master of the way he dealt with his quests – impulsively, and yet taking great care to make his efforts worthwhile. Though, whether Potter did this purposefully, or had merely not mastered the spell remained questionable.

A spell told him that Potter's vital functions were still there. Severus went into a kind of trance, re-attaching the detached body parts as best as he could, while there was a mad ghost flying all over the room and occasionally passing straight through him. Not even the waves of chill managed to disturb his concentration… fortunately for the Gryffindor in front of him.

When he finally looked up and let himself take in the surroundings, he found that sometime during the treatment, Draco… the boy had done _something_. Severus had no idea what it might have been, but the outcome was that the ghost calmly hovered next to the Malfoy heir and chatted about something (after she had closed all the taps). Severus would have been impressed, but he was too tired and there was too much on his mind.

"Sir?" Draco asked as their eyes met.

"He'll live," Severus grumbled, perfectly aware that he had just given himself out. As soon as the young Malfoy's thoughts were clear, he would realise that Severus could have easily let Potter die – no one would blame it on him – and pleased the Dark Lord. It scared him. He would have to either think up a believable excuse, or _Obliviate_ Draco. But first, at the very very first, they had to get Potter to the hospital wing. And then Severus would have to sit down and _think_, and figure out _why_ in the seven circles of Hell _did_ he save the insufferable brat.

Draco once again proved to be intelligent and thoughtful – to Severus's great pride and dismay – and conjured a stretcher. The Boy Who Just Lived wasn't in a state to be levitated, and Severus appreciated that he didn't have to do any magic himself right now. He felt drained. Exhausted. And he had a rough bout of explaining to do in the near future.

At least he had screwed his life himself. He couldn't even imagine having somebody else do it for him…

S-D

Draco watched as Pomfrey leant over the bed, closely scrutinising the boy that lay in it. He realised in the past fifteen minutes that there were some things Healers and Aurors had in common – they could go straight from deep sleep to full alert. The medi-witch worked on a password, at least so it seemed. One could kick down her door and she would but grumble sleepily, but it was enough to mutter 'emergency' in the hallway and two steps later she would be on her feet and in the middle of the process of putting on her robe.

"Severus, go to the dungeons before you start snoring. You've got classes tomorrow and I'm going to need a new store of Blood-replenishing potion."

The Potions Master jerked from slumber, even though his eyes had been opened and posture straight all the time. Pomfrey must have known him really well to be able to tell he was close to asleep.

He merely grunted in response, but complied. On his way to the door, he paused in front of Draco.

"Stay here and keep an eye on him. You are excused from your classes tomorrow."

Before Draco could ask him why, Snape was gone.

Pomfrey glared at the boy, as he walked up to the bed and sat down on the sheets next to… not Potter, he would never sit down near Potter, but next to an unconscious body. _It_ was paper-white. For the first time he met someone who was actually paler than himself.

The body… Potter… didn't look alive. If Draco had found him like this on a road somewhere, he would just bury him, not even bothering to check the pulse. But both Snape and Pomfrey said that his vital functions were steady, so he must have been still alive…

"Why won't you move then?" he whispered, spooked by the pearly apparition. Its lips were probably blue, but in the clinical, neon light that remained after Pomfrey finished her work on the Gryffindor, all colour was lost. The blackness of Potter's hair seemed almost vulgar. Draco wished that the other boy would move, at least visibly breathe or something, because it looked like they were all waiting for the rigor mortis to set in right now.

"Did you say something?" Pomfrey asked from the doorway. Draco looked up, startled, then the meaning of the question reaching his brain and he shook his head. It was too late. Too late to be awake.

"Ma'am, Professor Snape said I should stay here with… him."

She looked at him suspiciously. Draco gave her a tired gaze that was supposed to relay his true feelings: he wished for his bed in the depths of Slytherin's dormitory, and the last he wanted to do right now was watch some stupid suicidal Gryffindor hero.

"Very well, Mr. Malfoy. The wing is empty, you can choose whichever bed you like. At least you can help me in the morning."

She switched off the neon light and the room was suddenly bathed in darkness. Potter glowed. Draco shivered just looking at him.

"Help you with what?"

"Moving him to the ward," the woman called from the adjacent room and, exasperated, slammed the door shut behind her. Draco remained solitary, and Potter's un-dead presence started creeping on him for real. Why did it have to be him? Why couldn't Potter's cronies guard him? Well, of course they couldn't be trusted with any kind of responsibility – they were Gryffindors, after all, but why him?

"Draco?"

He looked up and regarded the silvery figure that glided towards him. She looked eerily like Potter – both shining white in the darkness, both not alive, both not quite themselves without glasses on. And, though he wasn't the least bit happy about it, he knew why it had to be him.

o

A/N2: Reviews are greatly appreciated!  
Brynn


	2. Salvation

Chapter 2: Salvation

"He almost made it, you know," Draco whispered after a while, referring to the suicide attempt rather than the actions afterwards.

"Yeah… he looks so dead." The girl passed by him and lay down, merging into Potter's body. She remained there for a minute, occasionally moving, so that it looked as if _his_ skin was rippling. Then she set up and laughed.

There must have been less students than one could count on one hand, who had ever heard Moaning Myrtle laugh merrily. Draco's first time had been years ago – he almost felt exceptional. Except that it was just _Moaning Myrtle_.

"Happy?"

"Very. He's very strong. And a fighter."

Draco forbade himself rolling his eyes. She was smiling at him quite prettily. Sometimes he felt like disemboweling one Olive Hornby – unfortunately (or fortunately) the woman was long since dead. At other times he felt like disemboweling the Dark Lord, but he realised that there were many people who felt the same, and he wouldn't get his turn; even if he ever found enough courage, which he doubted. The Dark Lord was scary.

"He's not given up yet," she giggled, and gently stroked the unconscious boy's cheek. Draco felt slightly jealous, but squashed his violent surges, realising that he felt like disemboweling _someone_ way too often.

"What do you mean?"

"His magic is strong. Almost as strong as my killer's. He's special…"

"Yeah. Everybody noticed," Draco grumbled to respond to her last statement, but filed the first two into his memory to ponder later.

"Don't get grumpy. What I wanted to say is that he doesn't want to get better, and his magic fights the medication. At this rate, he's going to be dead come morning. Brilliant, isn't it?" she laughed again, and Draco's throat clenched. Snape had left him there to ensure that Potter wouldn't die, and much as he sometimes wished plight on the bothersome Gryffindor, the vision of him dead struck him. Potter wasn't just a kid, he wasn't just some idiotic teenager, a target of pranks or someone to bully, he wasn't a random blockhead to tease and taunt… He was _all_ these _plus_ the Saviour of the wizardkind.

He was hope.

Embodied not in the best way, but he couldn't just die. Even though wizards and witches would gather at his tomb and lead an army against the Dark Lord screaming his name as they died, fooling themselves that they were following in his footsteps and making his wishes come true… Those who saw past the religion weaved around his person and saw the human; those feared such loss.

Draco had been raised to see Potter as nothing but a puppet canonised by the Ministry and the Wizengamot. Severus was trained to understand the political machinations and he did, but when he had listened to the despair of the boy who had just realised what he was chosen for, and how easily he was to become a martyr (and how many people _wanted_ _him_ to become a martyr), Severus also understood Potter.

For the first time since he was really, really little, Draco yearned to do something foolish. To oppose the government, the Dark Lord, his father, and most likely also the Headmaster of his school, all at once, to… help? – Not really help…. To _save_ the boy he always viewed as his adversary. The plan was perfect – piss off a great number of people who had the power to kill him, get killed, and be reborn as something better than human, because in his last selfless act he cleaned his Karma.

"You are a fool," Myrtle stated quietly. He nodded, agreeing with her, and leapt off the bed. He was exhausted, but at the same time didn't feel like sleeping. He set out to the exit.

"Where are you going?" the ghost called after him.

"Kitchens?" he suggested. He wondered if the elves would give him some Firewhisky. He could try asking them instead of ordering. It seemed to work for Potter… though he found himself unable to envision Potter asking for alcohol. Maybe the Boy-Who-Tried-To-Commit-Suicide-Today, yes, but certainly _not_ Harry Potter.

"Draco! Draco, wait!" The ghost glided over and touched him, much as she had touched Potter before. He felt cold and weary. As though she was draining him… If she really was, and her lounging in Potter's body was to suck the energy out of him… he could easily die before the dawn.

"Why do you want him to die?"

"I don't enjoy loneliness."

"He wouldn't stay behind, Myrtle." He hated Potter… or at least loathed him… or something… still, he would never accuse Potter of cowardice. The idiot was as Gryffindor as they came.

"For me he-"

"Don't be stupid. If he doesn't want to live for Granger or Weasley or who he fornicates with, he wouldn't bother existing for you."

"You are cruel."

"I told you the truth. Do you want to kill him just because you can't stop lying to yourself? Open your eyes, Myrtle."

During her stay in the second-floor bathroom, she had perfected the art of wailing. Now, when she finally did cry because something truly hurt her, Myrtle remained soundless. Her shoulders quaked uncontrollably and she would have sagged against the wall, except that she was already floating and the solid material did nothing to halt her. It was disconcerting to watch her half-turn over in the air. A few of the nearest not-fastened objects reacted to her emotions. Sheets slithered off beds, candlesticks that Hagrid wouldn't have bent twisted, flasks with potions cracked and volatile mixtures oozed on the floor. The actual wail was long, long… it started low and quiet and ascended to a high-pitched shriek that would have awakened the dead.

Potter did not stir.

Unbeknownst to them, students and staff across the entire castle jolted from their sleep and wondered what had happened to be marked by such a sound, and listened, until finally the cry subsided when Myrtle, long overdue, decided she should have been out of breath by now.

"Myrtle…"

"Just shut up, Draco…" she sobbed. "Just hush and… damn it, tell me what do you think I am supposed to do?"

He rubbed his temples, disrupting his already less than perfect hairstyle, closed his eyes and sighed. On the back of his eyelids he saw imprinted the picture of a snow-white, half-curled up boy in the pool of his own blood…

"I don't know. Not kill him. He's… a lot of things you wouldn't know about, secluded from the society as you are."

"You're telling me to stay alone?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Myrtle… get out of that hole of yours and join the rest of the world. There's a war going on right now. He's _important_."

He bit his lip to prevent himself from adding something derogatory, just to keep his façade, but it had crumbled in front of her uncountable times so far and thus he decided it was indeed too late to play the Slytherin Ice Prince.

"Like what?"

"He's… People say he's our salvation." Draco spun and, angry with himself, stomped off to the kitchens.

D-S

Severus sat up on his bed, shivering in the cold of the underground suite. His ears were ringing. He tried to get the sound to stop, even went as far as to hit his head on the headboard, but nothing worked. Then, when the tone gradually rose, he realised that it wasn't his ears' fault after all.

He didn't want to know what happened – it was obvious that it concerned thrice-damned Potter in some way or other, because _everything_ concerned Potter, and he _didn't_ care. Even if he had been scared witless – which he _wasn't_ – he wouldn't care. He set up a Silencing Charm, stuck his head under the pillow and went back to his nightmares.

S-M

Minerva opened her eyes and squinted into the darkness. Her first – instinctive – glance was aimed at the clock, which showed 1:47. She groaned, and stared out of the window. The night seemed perfectly calm, quiet, undisturbed by any act of violence towards your fellows, the stars twinkled peacefully, and she couldn't grasp why, for everything that was orderly, she couldn't be left to sleep.

She climbed out of bed. The mirror on the wall showed shadows as always, one of them with burning red eyes that were the only colour in the vision. A fist-sized cylindrical object, situated in the centre of an upside-down crystal pyramid perched precariously on top of the bookcase, floated soundlessly. Minerva sighed.

"Students, then."

She had a complicated series of Charms set on her rooms to avoid being roused by some ridiculous commotion – and to keep Peeves from disturbing her – yet at the same time to be alerted to more powerful disturbances throughout the castle. Once a night, she could let it slide. Twice was too often.

Fastening her gown, she opened the door and recoiled as the incredible shriek reached her eardrums. She reflexively slammed the door back shut and gasped with relief as the sound was cut off.

"Myrtle… I'm going to Albus first thing in the morning. She should be exorcised – right after Peeves…" She didn't bother to put the gown in the case, just hung it over the back of the chair and fell into her bed. It was still warm.

M-D

It was half past six in the morning when Draco's spell woke him. He sleepily gaped at the semi-familiar ceiling and tried to put together his memories to find out why he had a headache.

"'Ire-hiskey…" he muttered and turned to the other side, closing his eyes to protect them from the light and trying to remember how wild he had gotten. It must have been bad to land him in the hospital wing…

Then the occurrences of past night came flooding back and he shot up, all thoughts erased by the notion that he didn't set his alarm spell to wake him in time for classes, but when there was trouble with Potter.

Once standing, he froze, staring at the bed next to the one he had been sleeping in. His spell must have been screwed up really, really greatly. Potter lay, still chalk-coloured, in a pool of vomited blood-replenishing potion.

Draco trusted Myrtle when she said she wouldn't help Potter die, but he also trusted her when she said that Potter's own magic fought the medication and that he didn't want to live… He must have wanted to die pretty bad. A series of more or less absent-minded spells vanished the mass, cleaned the sheets, and filled the air with a sharp smell of lemon – awful, but still better than the alternative. Then, as though protected by the daylight, Draco finally built up the courage to touch the Gryffindor.

Potter wasn't breathing.

"Ma'am?! Ma'am Pomfrey!" he yelled, close to panicking.

There was no response. He ran to the door she had left through last night, but there was a little floating message that read 'be back in 15 minutes'.

"Fifteen minutes since when?!" he cried. Again, nobody answered.

He ran back to the bed and stared at the Gryffindor. There must have been spells. Something. Potter's heart still beat; there must have been a way to make him breath again… He had seen the Muggle means demonstrated; he had laughed at that time, but now _anything_ would be better than letting _him_ die…

He groaned. The idea of getting his mouth anywhere near Potter's was disgusting, and that was not thinking of the regurgitated potions. He couldn't do _that_. No way.

He took a deep breath and forced Potter's mouth open. There was a small spark of magic where he touched the cold skin, and he followed it with his sixth sense. It went straight to the Gryffindor's ribcage and stirred something within…

Draco's eyes widened and, following his instincts, he pressed both his hands against Potter's chest, radiating his magic through his palms. His victim tried to refuse it, then tried to sway it to do damage instead of helping, but it was too weak by this time. Draco won. Potter gasped softly as he inhaled, and moved for the first time since he was brought in the room.

Draco retracted his hands and gaped at his palms. They looked as they always did. Pale, coulourless, smooth. With a life-line so short that he should have been dead for years… his main reason why he didn't believe in divination. Rather long fingers that, albeit skilled with precise work, were in fact weak and prone to breaking.

His hands that healed.

"Myrtle?" whispered a weak, raw voice that wasn't even remotely like Potter's.

Draco tore his gaze away from his palms. Two forest green eyes opened and pierced him. For a long while they eyed each other. Then the corners of Potter's mouth quirked up and he looked around.

"Where's my wand?" he asked conversationally, as though it was perfectly normal to wake up in the hospital wing and face an enemy sitting on the edge of the bed staring at his hands, after attempting suicide, vomiting potions, and almost suffocating. Maybe that was close to typical Potter's day, but Draco felt like giving up.

He asked the first thing that came to mind.

"Yesterday, when you and Myrtle talked, what was it about that 'previous offer'?"

Potter shrugged.

"Myrtle said, when Ron and I went to rescue Ginny, that if I died in the Chamber, I could share her bathroom. I wouldn't have taken her up on the offer back then, though. Probably."

The honesty with which Potter answered was completely unnatural, more so when he considered that he never really answered any of Draco's questions civilly. It made him feel as though Potter would tell him about anything… what made it worse was that he probably would. He must have stopped caring so absolutely…

"I still doubt that you would come back as a ghost," he said, and it seemed to amuse Potter. As though suddenly a different person was talking to Draco.

"Do you."

"Yes." Potter nodded, and sank back into the pillow, making himself comfortable. It was an ironic action from somebody who just tried to kill himself.

"I was actually expecting you to expand."

"Why should I?" So totally opposite to the willingness to share information a while ago.

"So that I can understand."

Potter seemed amused again.

"Why should I want you to understand me?"

"Because I'm the only one who is trying to."

"You're close to making me sentimental, you know…" the Gryffindor muttered wistfully. Then his expression changed and the look in his eyes all but screamed 'nostalgia'. "I never did anything worthwhile in my life. I would like to be remembered."

Draco was appalled. They learnt about him, believed in him, _worshipped_ him, and he felt it wasn't enough?

"You are Harry Potter! The Boy Who Lived! Walking history-"

"Am I?" he cut in, glumly.

"Yes," Draco growled. Everyone thought how wonderful the Golden Boy was, how brave and clever and loyal… and what the Hell… They stuck him in the front, always, because he made such a good picture, the little tragic hero with a scar that caused him _excruciating _pain, and with no parents to take care of him when he had his _horrible_ nightmares…

"Good to know." Potter said evenly. There was no hint of appreciation. "I'm history. I don't have to bother living on then, do I? I'm done."

"But…"

That just turned all Draco's argumentation against him. Potter watched with crazy lightning in his otherwise dull eyes as Draco's idea of a happy little poster-boy Saviour crumbled and underneath remained a shell of a human who in vain strove for any kind of attention for so long that he eventually gave up and… broke. Shattered. Decided that if he died, he might actually do something as himself, not Dumbledore's puppet…

Draco's throat constricted and his horror must have showed on his face, because Potter suddenly decided to continue.

"You explained myself just perfectly, Malfoy. Thank you for your _understanding_. If you don't hand me my wand, I'll find another way. I can only promise it will be a messier one, and probably more painful one. You might enjoy watching – I wouldn't deny you."

Every single word was meant earnestly, just as he said it. It reminded Draco of _his_ conversation with the ghost, when they spoke of death as if it was an everyday occurrence. Maybe it was…

"Potter… I'm… That's morbid."

"That's the plain, old, uncensored truth, Malfoy. Watch and learn; it might come handy to you, if you live long enough. You are lucky to get that _chance._"

Draco gulped. This was a force he wasn't strong enough to fight. Potter's reasoning was crazy, but he couldn't find the fault. The entire idea was insane, but it made sense… Draco knew he disagreed, but suddenly he couldn't remember why.

"Stop it-"

"That's what I'm trying to do," Potter replied evenly.

"No, not-"

"You're contradicting yourself. I don't want to die with a headache, so save me. Give back my wand."

Draco couldn't even if he himself was suicidal enough to want to. Snape had the wand, and hopefully it had been stashed in a heavy chest, locked, a thrown into the lake.

"First tell me why do you think you would stay behind?" he tried. No success.

"You already answered that yourself, Malfoy," Potter said, perfectly un-Gryffindor-ly composed. "The wand."

"No."

Potter started laughing. Draco shivered. And then, in the middle of a bout of giggling, his expression changed and he – the weakened, almost comatose patient – lunged at Draco.

Caught by surprise, he didn't withstand the blow, and they both landed on the cold tiling. While Draco got a harder blow, Potter was the one who slammed his head into the floor and went out cold. The Slytherin just lay there, unable to process what had just transpired, totally incomprehensive, and feeling way too weak to attempt to roll Potter off him and stand up.

D-S

There was still time before he had to start preparing for the classes, but Severus had woken from a particularly vicious nightmare and couldn't go back to sleep. While the entire castle – with the exception of the few most spirited – slept, he was on his way to the hospital wing to check upon his protégé and most prized student… and on one idiotic Gryffindor nuisance. He expected to find them both blissfully asleep, so it shocked – and frightened – him to hear a thud and then a pain-filled moan. He was unsure whether it would be a good idea to disturb right now, but then he realised what he was thinking about, kicked himself mentally, and entered.

His first thought was that he was right and second that he had to decide whether he should escape right now and pretend that he never was there, or deal with the situation. But then the heap of Draco's and Potter's limbs – which were suspiciously still – let out a quiet 'help', and Severus figured out that he had, fortunately, been wrong after all.

"Draco? What happened here?"

"Get me out!" the boy cried with more than a hint of desperation.

Severus lifted Potter's – once again unconscious – body off the young Malfoy, and noted just how easy it was to do so. Potter weighted less than a fourth-year girl. He knew that, because he had carried one out of class two days ago. He deposited the frame on the bed, released Draco from the Petrifying spell, and hauled him up. The blond opened his mouth – most likely to thank or explain – but remained standing still, gazing at Potter with something in his eyes that Severus had never seen before in anybody's eyes. It scared him.

"What happened here, Draco?"

The blond smiled insanely.

"His hair," he said by way of explanation. Severus's eyes darted over to the black-haired-

Grey-haired teenager.

'How fitting' insisted a little voice in his head, but he told it to shut up and wordlessly glamoured Potter's hair a proper Potter charcoal black. It wouldn't do to disturb the staff and students more than it was necessary. Draco already proved that they could only handle so much before their sanity became questionable.

"His hair is as it always was," he said coldly, and shook Draco's shoulders. The blond jerked and, befuddled as though he had just woken up, looked at Severus.

"He fought medication. Threw it all up. Stopped breathing. I…" he hung his head and glanced at his hands. Severus forced him to look up again.

"What did you do?"

"I healed him, alright?! I made him breath again!"

Not even the shouting managed to wake up the sleeping Gryffindor, and Severus gulped, riding on a roller-coaster of sleep-deprivation, confusion, fear and worry.

"How?"

"I don't know! He got mad and attacked me! And then he hit his head and fainted…"

"Hit his head?!" Severus pinched the bridge of his nose and silently promised himself to sleep more than four hours a day in the future. Right now he hoped that the Boy Who Lived lived.


	3. Shake

Chapter 3: Shake

"Fine. We ascertained that he lives. Can we go now?"

"No, Draco. You are staying here for the rest of the day. I made him drink another flask of Blood-replenishing potion, but if he doesn't accept this, there's going to be trouble."

Draco laughed sarcastically, and without having to utter a word reminded Severus how much trouble they already were in. And not only they – Potter, Dumbledore, and, consequently, the entire wizarding world as well. It was rather hard to make an idol for children of a person who committed suicide. This had to be hushed up. Quickly.

"Why me?" the blond whined and scowled at both Severus and Potter.

"Because I can't entrust him to anybody else. If the worst happens…" By worst he meant that Potter actually succeeded on his quest for death. "We have to get him out of the castle and-"

"Fake an encounter with Death Eaters. And make it believable."

Severus suppressed a proud smile as his protégé once again proved _his_ brilliance, and watched as the boy stepped up to the bed to view his rival. Any other teacher would try to put more distance between the two of them, especially if Potter was incapable of defending himself, but he wasn't worried.

"I… He's got a concussion. A severe one," Draco whispered.

"How do you know that?" Severus asked, thunder-struck. Not even he could tell that.

"I don't know. I don't even know what exactly it is, a concussion. I-"

"It's when-"

"I don't care! He's got it."

Draco took the last step to the bed and reached out for Potter's head. Severus gulped. Now he was nervous, and _sweating_. That didn't happen often. Somehow he knew that what was going on in front of him would be of importance later, he just wished that it wouldn't concern him. Any mixture of Potter, Malfoy and magic was volatile, one didn't have to be a Potions Master to know that.

"What-"

Draco gestured him to shut up and Severus, to his own surprise, did.

The blond closed his eyes and stroked Potter's hair, stopping his hand over a temple. There was never any gentleness lost between these two particular wizards, so it should have looked unnatural, but Draco made the action seem perfectly all right.

When he pulled back mere seconds later, there was a hint of smile on his lips… that vanished as soon as he opened his eyes.

"I healed him," he said flatly, and gave Severus a deer-in-headlights expression.

S-D

"Why are you doing this, Draco?"

The entire story about Malfoy/Potter rivalry, the war, opposite sides and personal hatred was cramped into the question and the tired look Snape was giving him. Draco bit his lip, searching for a believable excuse. He had taken time to understand his reasons for himself, but explaining them to another – though the other was Professor Snape, the one with the greatest chance to comprehend – seemed impossible.

"He said 'save me'." Even though he only meant for him to stop debating. It was quite possibly Harry Potter's first plea for salvation, even if only because Draco decided to understand it so. He had no idea whether it was good enough, but it must have meant something to the man, for he turned away to face the wall and sighed.

"Save him?" He chuckled darkly. "Save the Saviour. What does that make you, Draco?"

The boy seriously thought about it. It was somehow obvious that Snape was thinking of Dumbledore – who knows, maybe once the same words – 'save me' – were said to the old Headmaster and he listened when nobody else did. But then… his situation was different.

"A traitor," he replied calmly and stood strong, without wincing, as a pair of black eyes pierced him. They were calm compared to the green pools of insanity he had faced before.

He did not kid himself – this transgression would not be looked upon kindly.

"Then we are both traitors, aren't we," Snape grumbled and combed his fingers through his hair that was unusually greasy today. He must have missed a shower due to the night's events. Draco felt like scoffing at himself for such ridiculous train of thoughts, but then, after dealing with Potter and what he found about the Boy Wonder today, it sounded relatively healthy.

"What do you think we should do now?" the Potions Master inquired. Draco had no idea.

"Ask me tomorrow at the same time, sir, and give me a chance to sleep before I answer."

Snape nodded. Apparently, he as well thought that twenty-four hours to make a life-changing decision wasn't too much to ask.

D-S

When Pomfrey finally returned to the hospital wing, it was an hour after Draco found the fifteen-minutes message. She almost got a heart attack when Severus forced the boy to retell the – heavily edited – events of the morning.

The nurse then calmed down quickly, ran a series of tests, and declared Potter physically intact, yet still refusing any medication. Then she proceeded to explain that she was requested to attend a meeting with the Headmaster, which ran long because McGonagall angrily demanded that a couple of ghosts and a poltergeist within the castle be exorcised. After she had been politely refused for the seventh time she finally hushed and left in a huff.

Pomfrey informed Dumbledore about Potter's latest night stroll and its outcomes, and the Headmaster was apparently struck, but there was nothing in particular he intended to do about it. He merely agreed with the medi-witch on temporarily moving Potter into a separate ward.

"That won't do him much good, Poppy," argued Snape, and Draco felt that perhaps they should just let the boy die and be over with the mess. He was still shocked and confused, but most of all scared.

"He could attack you."

"He doesn't have his wand, Mr Malfoy. There's not much he could do," she snapped, and Draco shared a glance with Snape. Nobody would believe them that Potter could do wandless magic, anyway. No point in making fools of themselves.

"He's violent," Snape warned in the end and stood up. "I'm going to have a word with the Headmaster. Watch Potter, Draco." With that, the Potions Master left. Pomfrey eyed the Slytherin suspiciously, as though they had not come over that one the night before.

"What does he think…" the witch grumbled, turning her back on Draco. "I can take care of myself." She closed the door behind herself and Draco didn't know whether he should be relieved or all the more anxious. He settled for relieved.

'Take care of herself… but not of Potter,' he thought bitterly, even though he did not dare voice it. He hoped that the situation would be resolved quickly. Potter scared him.

Just as he thought that, the body on the bed started trashing. Potter arched (there was little doubt that it was in pain) and lost balance, falling to the side and just barely staying on the bed. A wracking cough quaked him, and Draco hurried over, only to find that _he_ started spitting blood with the potions.

This time it went more or less subconsciously – at one point Draco just found his hands on the cold, white body, and his magic flowed over. The coughing stopped, and there were dark red blotches on his shirt. He couldn't remember where he left his robe. Out of breath, he sat down next to Potter and closed his eyes. He felt like crying, but Malfoys didn't cry. He found it restraining.

"Why, why couldn't you find someone else? I can't even properly hate you anymore…"

"Malfoy?" It was quiet and calm. Draco refused to look.

"I won't give you your wand. Any wand. And don't _Petrify_ me again."

"Malfoy."

"What do you want now?"

"To die. Just-"

"Potter, I've been put into this cell to keep guard and ensure that you won't die. Do me a favour and give it up. At least temporarily."

There was silence and eventually Draco cheated and opened his left eye. Potter was looking at him. Not gaping/staring/glaring/frowning… Just looking. All that compressed pain made him uncomfortable, but the Gryffindor wouldn't care.

"You're a…" Potter started. "Never mind."

"What?"

"I'm sorry."

This time Draco looked for real, opening both eyes. Potter lay still, seemingly asleep, but he couldn't shake the feeling that there was something wrong with him. He took one awfully thin, freezing hand into his own. Potter wearily looked at him.

"Malfoy…"

The Gryffindor was weak, and after a recent severe blood-loss, but otherwise there was nothing (physically) wrong with him – at least that much Draco's hands told him. He had no choice but to trust them.

"Just sleep, Potter. And get better. _Quickly_."

And Potter _obeyed_. At least the first part.

D-S

"Weasley! Granger!"

The afternoon so called 'study session' in Gryffindor common room fell silent, and all eyes shot over to the portrait hole. In the shadows of the corridor stood a lone figure, visible just enough to be discerned, if the barking voice left any doubts about the identity of the inquirer.

"Sir?" The Head Girl piped, deposited an enormous tome on the table (as she was one of the few who actually were studying) and stood up, dragging the redhead with her as she went. He didn't even try to protest. They reached the exit and climbed out of the room.

"Follow me…" Severus ordered and led the way to a nearby empty classroom. He set up a _Muffliato_, and beckoned the couple to sit. They ignored the gesture.

"Sir?" Granger repeated.

"Tell me about Potter's wandless magic."

She looked at Weasley with a frown.

"Ron, excuse us for a moment."

"What? But, Mione…"

"Ronald."

"Aye, Ma'am. Good night, sir," he said and left. It didn't surprise Severus to see that the girl had such respect. If she could put the knowledge she received from books to use (and he had gathered evidence that she could), even her 'Gryffindor' classmates were probably scared of her. Weasley was certainly shaking in his trainers.

"Miss Granger?" he urged her to answer.

"Ron didn't know about it. Before I tell you anything, sir, I must know why you want me to disclose confidential information about my best friend." She perched on a desk, folded her hands in her lap, and gazed at him with an air of equality that students _never_ managed to keep around him.

"_Your best friend_, Miss Granger, tried to kill himself yesterday. Surely you noticed that he was missing from the classes today."

She sighed and hung her head. For a while it seemed as though she was either thinking hard, or trying to suppress tears, or both, but then she sighed again and glanced up. She didn't look the least bit surprised, only slightly sad.

"So it really came so far. I had hoped he would win over this one… he always won before… Oh, Harry…" She brought out a neatly folded white handkerchief and blew her nose. "How is he?"

"He'll live." Severus dismissed the state of health of the boy. The Headmaster in his infinite unreasonability allowed Potter visits from anybody. "Unless he wandlessly _Petrifies_ his caretakers again and there will be nobody to stop him this time," he added, getting back to his reason for going anywhere near the red-and-gold territory.

Granger nodded to indicate she deemed it good enough.

"A few weeks ago, Harry started having uncontrollable surges of raw power. He had to tell someone, and he chose me, afraid that Ron would freak out. I've been covering up for him-"

"What I am talking about, Miss Granger, are not some surges, but fully mastered, precise wandless magic," he cut in impatiently. The woman had the gall to smirk at him, even if she went back to seriousness instantly.

"I'm well aware of that, sir. He learnt to control it in the meantime, and I believe – though he had not told me outright – that he had even learnt to build up the power if he's anticipating he would have a use for it. I'm fairly sure though, that he is not an accomplished wandless mage. Yet."

Severus quietly seethed. He was supposed to watch over the boy, and nobody bothered to tell him this? He had left Draco alone with the little Gryffindor monster!

"And you planned to tell this when?"

"Preferably never, Professor," she bit back. "It is Harry's personal business. Unless it was to prevent harm, I wouldn't have told anyone."

"Grang-"

"If you excuse me, now, sir. I have a long evening in front of me, not to mention the headache from the row that's going to start as soon as I re-enter the common room. So, if there is no other impeding danger, I would very much like to retire."

Appalled, and the slightest bit impressed by her audacity, he dismissed her. It was a joy to talk to a not-cowering student once in a while. He just hoped she wouldn't infect her classmates.

"Twenty points from Gryffindor."

"Perfect. Good night, sir."

S-D

"Draco!"

He stirred and muttered some sleepy nonsense, hoping that whoever wanted anything from him would go away. No such luck.

"Mr Malfoy!"

"'sor. 'o 'way…" He realised he was talking like Hagrid and the thought was enough to banish his dreams. "Whasa goin' on?"

"How long were you asleep?" inquired an exasperated Potions Master.

"Dunno… I just remember Potter going to sleep after he more or less agreed not to petrify me again… though we didn't discuss Stunning…" Draco had a distinct impression that the most Gryffindorish of the lot had outsmarted him after narrowly escaping from under Death's scythe.

"Was that before or after it got bloody?"

Draco blinked and looked around as if searching for a hint. Then he remembered.

"He threw up again."

"He threw up blood?"

"Yeah…" the boy answered wearily and looked at his 'charge'. Potter was curled up and asleep, the only missing thing was a thumb stuck in his mouth. The perfect little angel.

"I healed it, though. You talked to the Headmaster?" he asked from his spot on the bed, since he didn't feel like moving.

"Yes. Unfortunately, it seems that the Golden Boy's welfare isn't of a great importance today."

"What?!" Draco shrieked, nearly falling off the side of the bed. Potter's hand shot out and steadied him.

Draco nearly went into shock. He checked again. Potter was fast asleep.

"B-but _Dumbledore_?"

"He's _sorry_ that Potter wouldn't survive… but for some reason he doesn't want him to-"

"Malfoy?" rang Pomfrey's voice. Snape glared in her direction, but there was not much he could do that would get her out of a ward when she decided to be persistent. However, this was a different occasion.

"There's someone who wants to talk to you."


	4. Crazy

Chapter 4: Crazy

"Granger? What in the name of Slytherin do you want?"

The girl surveyed him thoughtfully.

"Malfoy, are you a Death Eater?" she asked. He blinked.

"Granger, what makes you think that even if I-"

"Just give me an answer."

He scoffed.

"I'm not _that_ stupid."

She gave him the look she had practised on Potter and Weasley whenever they were particularly dense. It insulted him, but before he had a chance to retaliate, she spoke.

"Malfoy, if you don't tell me right now, I'm going down to Slytherin and asking every single of your dorm-mates, until I've found one that is…"

He blinked again. Something was very wrong here – the Golden Boy attempted suicide because he felt underappreciated, the Headmaster didn't care if his Pet died, the resident Know-it-all searched for a Death Eater student (if she simply wanted a Death Eater, she could have gone to Snape)… next a Weasley would like to join the Dark Lord. He would opt for the girl if he got a choice.

"Okay. I don't have the Mark, but I got to go to a few meetings. Happy?"

"Far from. But you'll have to do. I'm perfectly aware that there never was any love lost between the two of us, Malfoy, but you need me to keep your extracurricular activities from the Headmaster and your sudden decision to help Harry from your _other master_. I want a favour."

Blackmail. He should have expected… no, he couldn't have expected something like this. She was a Gryffindor. Gryffindors were supposed to stick to rules!

"What do you want?"

"To save Harry."

"And how do you suppose I will do that?" he snapped, angry more that he had no idea than that she suggested it. He hated himself. Potter could do that to people.

"You get him out of Dumbledore's reach. I'm sick of this political game – Harry can't withstand another machination."

Draco's jaw sank.

"How do _you_ know-"

She gave him the Look again. He seethed.

"Ron can be totally dumb in most things, but he is a genius strategist. And he does come from a pureblood family," she said, as though that explained everything.

"What did you do? Bought him a stack of books on the topic?"

"As a matter of fact, I did. And I nicked Umbridge's diary from her office last year. So, over the course of the summer, I got myself a personal political expert."

Draco sat down on the nearest chair, because falling on his ass would have been undignified, especially after he was recently saved from falling off bed by a fast-asleep almost-goner. He hated gravity.

"Granger, both your parents are Muggles, right?"

"Yes. Why?"

He shook his head incredulously.

"Our race is screwed."

She laughed at him, but it was – fortunately – short lived. The entire experience was extremely undignified.

"Do you know how many people actually thought to ask Harry which side he believes in?" she asked, perching on the bed opposite to the chair he occupied.

Draco shrugged.

"No idea."

"Two," she deadpanned. He gulped. He never felt like he had a choice, but at least some people gave him the benefit of the doubt. Of course the ultra-light Saviour wouldn't have the slightest inclination for the darkness… if he wasn't currently severing his own body parts with dark spells.

"You and Weasley," he guessed conversationally. Granger wasn't Myrtle – he had appearances to keep.

"No." She shook her head, and flushed ever so slightly. "Luna and Neville. I found out from Ron after… well, point is that Harry said neither. He said he didn't believe _in the war_, and he wanted to end it before anybody was hurt. And then Sirius died. Harry was never the same again."

"How beautifully tragic," he smirked at her. She quirked her eyebrow, stealing his own trademark expression.

"You don't get it! I've got to get Harry out of Hogwarts! He can't go to his relatives – they would just leave him on the street to die. He can't go to my parents, because Death Eaters would get there the next day. Same reason why he can't go to the Burrow…"

"You're not thinking… You're crazy, Granger. My Father won't stand Potter in his house."

"Not your Father, idiot! Voldemort. I need you to get Harry to Voldemort."

He tried really hard, but couldn't stop himself from flinching at the name… at the same time he felt like laughing, really, really hard, laughing like Potter must have laughed at the entire wizarding world when he thought up the entire suicide-scheme. He just was too shocked to do that.

She had the audacity to glare at him for the lack of response, and he forced himself back into the role, though the slight hint of Potter-induced insanity returned to his eyes and voice as he spoke.

"Granger, you're totally delusional. Whacky. Crack-brained. Mental job. Goof ball. Nut case. Dingbat. Doter-"

"Malfoy, your vocabulary is alright, but-"

"It. Is. Not. Possible."

She scoffed.

"You can't do it?"

Damn Gryffindors who were just too Slytherin for their own good. Damn Slytherins for being so childish that a Gryffindor could push their buttons.

"Of course I could." She was supposed to be intelligent! Even Crabbe and Goyle knew that every time the Dark Lord and Potter met, a mortal combat issued. She was… stoned. Or under Imperius… that was it, she was under Imperius. And waiting for Draco to give himself away, so she could go inform the caster of his treachery.

That was a dilemma he had already faced. Damn twenty-four hours. Something in him didn't want Potter to die. Maybe the one under Imperius was him and he just didn't realise it.

"They would just get into fight and Potter would end up dead," he said softer than he intended to.

"Well, that's what he wants, isn't it…" Granger concluded, looking at her nails, as if they were discussing weather or fashion. "And shouldn't you be happy?"

That made him angry, and then more angry _because_ he let himself be angry. Pathetic.

"Granger."

She sighed and finally looked up at him. It was the third time that day he was staring into the eyes of someone who was stir-crazy, but of the three, Hermione Granger was the only one intent on making him believe she was sane.

"No, Malfoy, they wouldn't fight. They don't have enough reasons to."

He gulped. She had just denied one of the truths his universe rested on – one he had doubted since yesterday, but wasn't quite prepared yet to lose. Then again, if he let himself believe it – more importantly, if he could make other particular people believe it – he need not die just yet. Maybe his treason wouldn't have been treason after all. If Potter wasn't The Chosen One, then he couldn't have been executed for saving The Chosen One's life, could he?

That sounded perfectly reasonable. Granger seemed to think along the same lines.

"You have to trust me on this one, much as it obviously pains you. Anyway, should something go wrong with Voldemort, you would be safe, and eventually even rewarded. So no worry."

She was willing to just risk Potter's life so easily? Draco couldn't believe it.

"No."

She shrugged and rose from the chair.

"Fine. I'm going to Nott."

"You're crazy!" he protested, but stood in her way to stop her from leaving. She was crazy. Potter was crazy. Snape was crazy…

"I believe you already said that."

And Draco was going to join them _very_ soon. He hated her for the small smug smile she had given him, but pointed at the door to the corridor leading to the wards nevertheless.

D-S

When the door opened, Severus expected either Draco or Pomfrey. Certainly not the bushy-haired menace he had had a conversation with less than an hour ago. At least she had not dragged her tamed Weasley along.

She nodded to him by way of greeting and hurried over to Potter's bed. He didn't bother to take points for the lack of manners – he knew that it made no impact. She was already too deep into the war to care about House Cup. Potter was more important to her than a random trophy… though he doubted she thought about it to such details. He just had nothing better to do with his time.

"Oh, Harry…" she whispered, quite predictably. He fleetingly wondered whether her reaction would have been different if he had left his hair unglamoured.

She pushed the _black_ tangled mass out of Potter's face, checked the scar for something he had no idea about, and finally touched the boy's cheek. Then she frowned, touched his forehead, and frowned deeper.

"Correct me if I am wrong, Professor. The body temperature of patients who suffered extensive blood loss is lower than normal. Right?" she looked at him quizzically, never taking her hand off the sickly-white skin.

He nodded. Draco, until that time unnoticed, strode up to the bed, pushed the hand aside (though not violently and the girl obviously took no offense) and checked Potter's temperature.

"Poison," the blond said under his breath, and his grey eyes widened. "He didn't do this himself," he stated with a hint of panic, glancing alternately between Severus and Granger, as though they had the answer. Severus for once skipped the entire part where he was supposed to figure out who wanted to do in Potter enough to risk something as serious within the walls of the school, and how could they have missed it, only chalking it down to the nap Draco had taken/was forced to take. More important was what to do to _prevent_ the Boy Hero's premature death-

"How does he… wow," Granger proclaimed and her eyes went wide at the young Slytherin. She subconsciously smiled and then the reason struck Severus. Struck him hard. This was unexpected.

"Yes, apparently, young Mister Malfoy is a Natural Healer."

He had yet to decide whether it was good or bad. Or if it mattered at all. Granger nodded, still fascinated as though she had just been presented a proof that Crumple-horned Snorkacks were real.

"He is."

Draco's jaw sank.

"I am _not_!"

Severus smirked and, ignoring the blond, responded to the girl.

"He just doesn't know it yet."

"Ah," she replied knowingly, smirking back. Draco tried to protest.

"I am n-"

"Shut up, Malfoy, and heal Harry while you still can. I have gotten the impression that you don't particularly want him to die." Severus felt a little ashamed for forgetting about the again-dying Saviour in the heat of the conversation, but eventually settled for watching one of the rarest mutations of wizards work. It was… boring. He yawned (conveniently forgetting that Granger was still in the room). Draco retracted his hands and nodded feebly to indicate that Potter should – again – survive. Persistent pest. Draco sank on the edge of the bed, steadied by a hand that should have been weak and limp – and second later became such. Severus didn't know what to think.

"It seems that Malfoy isn't the only mutant in the room," Granger observed. Severus shook his head – how was it possible that, if not Ravenclaw (which she just might have been too smart for), why the witch didn't belong to his own house. He glanced over to the bed. That might have been the answer.

"How far do Dumbledore's machinations go?" he wondered quietly.

"Way too far."

Startled, Severus sharply turned to the left and faced an ashen-faced, furious Pomfrey.

"I have been sent here by a distraught ghost, Severus. She seemed to think that Mr Potter's state had worsened after the Headmaster's visit."

He blinked.

"Dumbledore visited Potter?"

"Yes, about… forty minutes ago. I had another job and left him alone. No idea how long he stayed." She was scowling, and there was an angry determination in her eyes that he didn't seem to recall.

"See? That's what I've been talking about," Granger proclaimed to Draco, of all people. The blond _nodded_. "Still think I'm crazy?"

"Yeah. But I guess I understand what drove you there."

It was sad watching how even the more sheltered children set out on the path that would ultimately lead them to the point that made Potter attempt suicide. Severus hoped that these two would never get that far. He would hate to see either of them with severed limbs, laying in pools of their own blood.

"Explain," he ordered, watching all three of them expectantly.


	5. The Sorting Hat

Chapter 5: Sorting Hat

"I'm afraid I can not. I merely relayed the message of the ghost."

"Which ghost?" Granger asked, interested in entirely different part of the problem than Severus. It irked him to be ignored, but he decided to not shout his head off because of it. He had had far too little sleep to do any active intimidating.

"Myrtle. _Moaning Myrtle_," said Draco and waved the matter off as unimportant.

"Moaning Myrtle was here?" the girl asked incredulously.

"She actually talked Potter into the suicide."

It shocked Severus to see a Malfoy and a Muggle-born to have a civil conversation. He concluded that Potter naturally tended to make people act irrationally. As soon as the boy was sound, Slytherins would be little slimy snakes again, and Gryffindors would return to idling and killing lonely brain-cells in the lurid depths of the Lion Den.

"Bollocks. Ah, knowing Myrtle she just gave him the final nudge. I bet it would make her happy to- wait!" Severus could see the candle spring to light under that bushy mane. "It was Myrtle yesterday night? That atrocious wailing sound – that was her?" Her suspicion was confirmed with a couple of nods. "Wicked. I had no idea she was that… sound." This time there was nothing to add.

"If you are done with slandering your fellow… entities, would you mind explaining your little _debate_ with Mr Malfoy, Miss Granger?" he asked, letting his impatience colour his voice. The girl looked at him almost challengingly, but not quite, since she obviously didn't want to start a fight.

"Perhaps I could be of assistance?" came a cold inquiry from the doorway. The four conscious inhabitants of the room turned there at once.

"I expected a warmer welcome – not that I could feel the warmth, mind you… You cannot imagine how odious looking for a way through this castle is, when you cannot get _through_ the walls," Myrtle said with a slight hint of irritation that was totally out of character for her. Severus scrutinised her colourless tie and wondered if, perhaps, she too was once a Slytherin. But with the weird tendencies he had seen in Potter and Granger in the past day, she might have been in any House. He supposed that in who knows how many years as a ghost her mind could have matured… That would certainly explain a lot… though not the almost regular floods on the second floor.

"Why would you do that?" Draco inquired and the ghost shot him a look that showed a mixture of negative feelings, but refrained from going into a _moaning_ fit, like she would have done for nearly anyone else.

"Because of this," she replied and tossed an ugly, dirty object on the bed, next to Potter's unconscious form. Five paper-white fingers inexplicably gripped its rim.

"The Sorting Hat," Granger pointed out needlessly, just as the infamous gap in the sewing opened and started to – gods forbid - recite.

"He craves being listened to,  
And obtained all the means  
But now he's responsible  
That he's the one who wins."

The accessory shut up, giving them time to realise who it was speaking about, as though it wasn't more than obvious. For some – Pomfrey – it apparently wasn't. Granger was already opening her mouth to voice another of her insipid questions, fortunately (though Severus couldn't believe he thought it fortunate), the Hat continued.

"If you take a leaden ball  
And coat it all with gold  
Do you get golden apple  
Or it's still lead you hold?  
What to do when suddenly  
Your goal is much too tough  
And the one who'll 'save us all'  
's not saviour-y enough?"

The ward echoed with gasps and, amazingly, it was Granger who replied, as though she had expected this all.

"Get rid of the Saviour. Follow the myth, for it's more powerful than the actual human it has been woven around."

"Amen," responded Draco sarcastically and the three women gave him reproachful glares. The boy merely shrugged, unfazed.

"When you take a green apple

And make it ripe too fast

You can't expect that it will

Until the winter last," whispered Myrtle and, before anybody could react, took off through the nearest wall. Granger sat down on the floor with a thud. Draco failed to make a derogatory remark. Severus kept silent. Pomfrey stared at the unmoving cold body on the bed and eventually sniffed.

"Myrtle… I never would have guessed…" muttered the Gryffindor girl and pulled herself up when the Slytherin next to her didn't seem to be offering her assistance any time soon.

"Very well. We might know the Headmaster's motivation – though I am tempted to doubt its truthfulness – however. Mr Malfoy, Miss Granger?"

"We…" Draco paused and Severus's trained nose already smelled the rot.

"Oh, for goodness sake, Malfoy…" Granger turned to the Potions Master, "We made a pact. About Harry."

"And what, per say, was it about?"

Draco laughed, once again receiving reproachful glares, and once again ignoring them.

"I promised her that I would bring Potter to the Dark Lord."

Severus's emotions must have shown on his face, because Draco began to laugh again. Harder.

"I told her. I told her the idea was totally screwed, I told her she was barking-"

"Mr Malfoy, stop this outburst right now. It is unbecoming." It was, of all people, Pomfrey who chastised the blond. Severus had rarely seen a Malfoy shut up so fast – except Death Eaters' meetings, and he refused to think about those now. Though he might have to.

"Is the situation so hopeless?"

Granger nodded solemnly. Give up Potter. They had to give up Potter for the boy to survive – if it wasn't already too late for that. Severus, for the umpteenth time in his life, questioned his loyalties. The Dark Lord was a monster. Dumbledore was a Monster. Who should he serve in world where he could choose between two evils of which neither was lesser?

Severus threw up a _Muffliato_.

"I have Veritaserum on me but I think it will not be necessary…"

She nodded. Smart girl. He felt the first bit of fondness towards her ever.

"Where do you stand, Miss Granger?"

"I always stood with Harry, sir," she replied calmly, but sat out on the edge of Potter's bed before her knees gave out. Her hands were shaking. Just a child. Severus felt so old. So responsible. So powerless.

"Draco? I know I gave you-"

The blond boy gestured him to stop and sighed. He was looking at the floor, but Severus knew _he_ had already chosen. And he knew exactly _what_ _he_ had chosen.

"Poppy?"

"Severus, whatever you three-four-five… are going to do, I am blind, deaf and mute. Try to include me as little as you can, though."

He nodded, not quite gratefully, but no one really expected anything else of him. Granger spoke up again.

"We couldn't have been sure before, but now it is obvious that we have to get Harry out of the Headmaster's grasp. We cannot leave him anywhere within the wizarding community. The public will never believe the truth – they are brain-washed. We can either ship Harry off to a deserted island, or leave him with the 'other side'. I wouldn't call the first option safe even if he wasn't suicidal."

That about cut it. Severus hated it, hated it with passion that he rarely felt, but Granger was right. He nodded to Pomfrey as she scurried out of the ward, and tried to pretend that he didn't see Draco holding Potter's hand.


	6. Fourtower Black Fort

Chapter 6: The Fourtower Black Fort

"Myrtle? Come down, I want to talk to you."

"Go away!" screeched the ghost and childishly floated yet higher, hovering just under the ceiling of the bathroom.

"Come down here. I have a deal-"

"No! Go away and leave meee alooone!"

Hermione sighed and put her hands on her hips.

"You know, that doesn't really work when I saw you act civil just a while ago. Drop the-"

"I hate you," the ghost said easily, with the bluntness of a child, but backing the statement with emotion of an old, bitter woman. Hermione could actually sympathise with _her_, despite _her_ having about as much personal charm as Snape. Just little more than Grawp.

"Well, that's _really_ jaundiced of you, but this is a _deal_ I propose. Means you get something out of it."

"You have nothing I could want," Myrtle snapped at her and, predictably, geysers of soiled water shot out of the toilets. Hermione fought not to gag at the stink.

"What about freedom?"

That was it. Her suggestion rendered the appropriate reaction. Myrtle, still suspicious, glided lower.

"Freedom?" she asked in a quiet, shy voice that rather suited her. It was much better than shrieking and wailing anyway. The Gryffindor nodded.

"Yes. I know you have been tied to this place, and you can't get too far from here – to the lake furthest, I estimate?"

Myrtle chewed on her immaterial lip, pointedly looking away. Hermione suppressed a smug grin and continued: "I can break that tie. It's not easy, but I know how to do it, and I am powerful enough to do it. _And_ willing."

"If?" the dead girl inquired, and the living one was momentarily struck by the up to now hidden cleverness. The ghost never actually seemed to have any depth, any mind behind its actions, as though it was just a robot, set to make as much mess as possible and annoy the hell out of all the beings who were as unlucky as to cross its path.

"If you watch Harry for me. Make sure that he gets to Voldemort, that he lives, that I know about his state…"

"You're not just leading me on?"

"I can't. I have to break the tie before you can do that. The Dark Lord lives further than Hagrid."

"Right…" Myrtle descended so that she floated eye to eye with Hermione, with less than a step wide space between them.

"I will do it. How are you going to free me?"

"With a bit of Dark Arts. Just sit back and enjoy the show. It'll get bloody…" she warned. To her surprise, Myrtle smiled genuinely.

"Ooh… I will like that!"

H-D

It was almost three hours since Draco Malfoy had one of the greatest shocks in his life. Three hours since merrily laughing Moaning Myrtle burst out of the door to her bathroom, followed by Hermione Granger. The Gryffindor was half-naked (wearing only her robe, with not as much as socks underneath), sickly-pale (though nowhere near as pale as Potter – not even matching Draco's own, natural, whiteness) and with the third most frightening leer Draco had ever seen. Worse were the Dark Lord's and his Father's. Granger's expression over-ranked even Snape on a bad day.

Draco had been speechless, so the questioning about what the hottest candidate on Head Girl had done would have been left to Snape, if the man bothered. _He_ took in the girl's appearance, the expression, glanced over to the ghost that came to a temporary halt near Draco's right shoulder, and smirked, saying: "Miss Granger, you might just have surpassed Potter in rule-breaking".

The Slytherin couldn't get the image out of his head as they walked back down to the infirmary, as Granger lay down and passed out as soon as her head hit the pillow, as Pomfrey scurried over to dote on her… As he and Snape charmed Potter on a stretcher and smuggled him out of the castle, hiding when Myrtle alerted them to casual by-passers, and all this was done in the daylight… right under the manipulative watchful nose of Albus Dumbledore.

And now they were standing in the centre of a vast trefoil field, just where the Portkey had landed them, and waiting for Myrtle to catch up since wizarding means of traveling didn't work for ghosts. It was cold and getting dark in the anticipation of a storm. A sharp, biting wind fought to steal Draco's outer robe, and he tightened it around his shoulders, unsure of whether it was all right to use warming charms. Snape was half-kneeling on the ground next to him, and checking on Potter's condition. It didn't look good. It – all of it – looked bad for all of them.

Just when the first fat, icy, wet drop landed on his cheek and slid down, resembling a tear, there was a swish in the air and the rim of Draco's robe lifted as though he was a warped male version of Marilyn Monroe. She had seemed ridiculous when he was shown pictures of her, but maybe she was in fact only unfortunate, and had a ghost after her. A malicious one.

"Myrtle?" he asked of the cold air.

"I'm here," she responded quietly, not out of breath, but exhausted in a _different_ way.

"Let's go then, shall we? Before Potter dies of hypothermia."

Draco briefly wondered what would the Dark Lord say if The Chosen One died of hypothermia on his doorstep. He would either Crucio everyone in sight, or laugh himself into insanity. If he wasn't there already. Which was a treacherous thought, so he drove it out of his brain with force.

He got a grip of the stretcher Potter lay on and concentrated – _The Fourtower Black Fort_. Not worth such a fancy name, but definitely an impressive building came into sight, right in front of them. In fact, Draco was standing less than five steps from the outer gates.

"Where are we going?" Myrtle asked, and he just realised that it might have been a problem. He had had no idea that Fidelius Charm worked on ghosts, too.

"One of the less known Black sites. It just escaped Draco's mother's grasp – and Bellatrix was more than willing to give it to the Dark Lord."

"Such a waste…" Draco muttered, staring up at the face. It could have been a beautiful place, shining and engulfed in green, surrounded by gardens… instead it lay waste as the grounds were turned into practice fields. It didn't look _Black_ – it just looked dead.

"Don't say that too loud, Draco," whispered Myrtle. She seemed to have caught on what was happening around her. About the highest time.

D-S

Severus looked around, and the feeling of being the only adult in the group – however debatable that statement was – suddenly became oppressive. As the downpour started, he had an argument with himself, and was already on the verge of sending Draco, Potter and the ghost to Spinner's End, when the gates opened and a lone figure clad in black robe with the hood pulled low to hide their face stood in front of them, scrutinised them, and gestured for them to enter.

"You were not expected," said a female voice with audible French accent as Severus passed by her. Draco followed in silence, giving the woman a searching gaze, but there was no way of recognising her after the thick sheets of clothing even if he had met her before.

"Is the Dark Lord present?" Severus inquired after the heavy metallic gate slid shut with a crash that couldn't be prevented.

"Yes, he is. If you wish for an audience, it might be organised immediately."

Severus scoffed at how much etiquette the woman used. He had a report to make, and she would call it 'audience'. As though they were on some sort of king's court, not in the secret base of the Dark Order. He glanced at Draco – fortunately the boy knew what the place was going to be like and how to behave. Otherwise the statement might have confused him and caused him to do something… dangerous. Like assuming that it indeed was like a king's court inside.

"Would you like me to-"

"Yes," he cut her off. He was a busy man, with important information. He had no time for her colourful words and flamboyant phrases. She muttered something apparently far less mannerly and without another word led them across the destroyed lawn to the main gate. It opened for her, and they followed, into a relatively warm and dry corridor. A few frames in better and worse states hung on the wall, though there was hardly anything left of the paintings that had occupied them. Obviously, the less entertained Death Eaters settled for unmoving targets.

"Draco, stay here," he said all of sudden, his voice reverberating in the hallways and coming back four or five times.

"But-"

"Stay here. All three of you," he added, noticing that even if the ghost couldn't see the house, she was still able to stick with them. Right now she hovered by Draco's right shoulder, as usually of late.

He didn't need to see her face to know that the woman who had let them in was glaring at him. He felt the intense gaze prickling at the back of his neck, since he decided – foolishly – to walk in front of her. He still had no idea who the woman might have been, though he was fairly sure he had already heard her voice. Then again, he had attended many Death Eaters' and Potioneers' social gatherings and encountered many French witches.

They stopped in front of an ajar door that was too new to be originally a part of the Fort, and enhanced with wards that sinisterly resembled Potter's from the bathroom.

"Entrez, Professeur."

He did, letting a few of his conscious thoughts surface above his Occlumency shields. On the opposite side of the room, which looked as though it had been originally designed for the purpose of gatherings around the Lord's throne, a small group of people Disapparated after being ordered to. He made his way there.

Reaching the base of the steps to the throne, Severus knelt and braced himself against the feel of the slitted red eyes looking him up and down. The Dark Lord's Legilimency was far beyond the need for eye-contact.

"Wormtail…" the snake-like man commanded. The balding scoundrel shuffled from behind the right of the two massive stone pillars and stood next to Severus. A disgusting stink hit the Potions Master's nose and he cringed, which was to say something, considering his profession.

"Stand up, Severus. I will not have you looking up at the disgrace."

"With your permission, my Lord…" he didn't wait for the answer – though he should have – but he had little doubt that the permission would be given. Two spells close after each other eased breathing considerably. Pettigrew bawled, fell over in fear, but didn't seem to understand what charms he had been subjected to, since Severus didn't bother uttering the incantations.

"You are right, Severus. It _is_ revolting."

"Why-"

"I have yet a use for it. _Fortunately_, it seems that the time is coming close. I called Wormtail to alert Death Eaters to an impromptu meeting, however, it seems that this time I have to subject you to the pain."

Severus grit his teeth, but nodded in compliance. He understood perfectly the man's reluctance to come anywhere near the Animagus.

"Hold out your hand."

When the tip of the wand touched the Dark Mark imbeded in his skin, it didn't hurt nearly as much as he remembered. He was relieved to find that he was able to keep his composure with that level of pain. In fact, burning his hand on hot cauldron hurt more… he came to a suspicion that the level of suffering could be controlled by the Lord's will.

"Before they gather, Severus, lead the way to the antechamber."

He obeyed, setting out to the door that was pointed out to him. First cracks of Apparition sounded, but it would be yet good twenty minutes before the last ones arrive.

S-D

"I don't like this," Myrtle said and for a while stopped staring at Potter's face. Draco had a strange urge to laugh. The current situation and liking could create a fine oxymoron… he might think up some to pass the time…

"I'm going in," she proclaimed and flew off before he could stop her. He sighed and a second later was startled by a high-pitched yelp. Myrtle had flown _through_ the woman who had let them into the Fortress. Again, he felt like laughing, but stopped himself, because the Death Eateress went straight to him, knelt down next to Potter and touched his cheek in a way that reminded him of Granger.

"What happened to him?" she asked with the ear-shattering French accent.

"Who are you?"

She looked up, and pulled down her hood. Draco gaped.


	7. Fairytales

Chapter 7: Fairy-tale

There was only one other person in the chamber, and Severus recognised her as the woman who had let them in when she inquired if she could be of assistance. The Dark Lord flashed her one of his rare smiles – deserved because she wasn't grovelling, and _yet_ treated him like a member of the upper class (which might have been a first for him).

"Go watch _over_ Severus's companions, Flower," he ordered. The woman bowed and went out to the 'throne chamber'. Severus's eyes widened as the hints came together and realisation dawned. The Dark Lord watched him with a satisfied smirk.

"Now, explain why didn't you bring Potter in straight away. Your reward will not be different if there are more witnesses."

Severus gulped. Here it came… he stared into the red eyes of Death.

"My Lord… I brought Potter to…"

"To save him?" the wizard inquired icily. The memories he had allowed to be seen must have been enough for the Dark Lord to make a picture of the occurrences of the past day. The reaction was calmer than Severus had anticipated, though… There _was_ anger, of course, but rather than blind hatred, refusal, and a couple of Unforgivables, he found himself subjected to a nerve-wrecking scrutiny.

"Do you have a personal gain from this?"

"None that I am aware of, my Lord…" he replied truthfully. He had tried to figure out why he was doing this, but being truthful with himself was never his forte.

"I, my young Death Eater, have had the strangest day today. That is one of the reasons why I had sent Flower to watch Potter, and not Nagini to kill him."

The snake, hearing its name, slithered out from the shadows, coiled around the Dark Lord's feet, and hissed. It received a hiss back.

"You have made that day even more strange, Severus. Aside from your swinging allegiances having swung once again, you brought Potter, whom I have been attempting to get hold of for years. Then you ask me not to kill him but to, behold, offer him refuge. And now you claim that you have done all this without a personal gain."

Before he could respond, the snake hissed again.

"Of course. I know that you speak truth, Severus, and you are not in the danger of being executed, though I am not convinced about whether you should be rewarded, yet. Right now, I am more interested in your motivation – you rarely act on irrational urges."

The snake glided over to Severus and clambered up his arm to _smell_ him. It tickled, but he didn't dare move. He spoke only after it left him.

"He attempted suicide, my Lord. His reasoning reminded me…"

"Of yourself." The Dark Lord contemplated for a while, watching the Potions Master all the time. The calm within the room, disturbed only by cracking of Apparition from behind the door, helped Severus relax. The surge of adrenaline gradually receded and he eased with the knowledge that their transgression wouldn't cost either him or Draco life. About Potter… there was nothing more he could do for Potter.

"He seeks to destroy me," the Dark Lord remarked conversationally. Severus deigned quirk an eyebrow.

"Does he, my Lord? As far as I know, he was always merely trying to survive." Personally, he wasn't certain about this, but he had to believe Granger on this one. He hated depending on the little wench for anything… Anyway, he couldn't recall any occasion when Potter would have initiated violence. The boy merely spoke of it. "He does hate you for killing people, though. Especially those close to him."

"The Potters. Of course. He would be bitter."

Severus nodded, strongly under the impression that the Dark Lord had just admitted to understanding some human emotions. Not that it made him different, it just was… unexpected.

"And, somehow, he came to the conclusion that the Diggory boy and Black are also to be blamed on you," he offered. Potter, sure, had the tendency to blame _himself_ at first, but then the entire flock of his 'closest' followers swept down on him and coddled him until he believed that it was all the Dark Lord's fault. Black, for example, was killed completely without _his_ awareness. As a lot of people, after all. Such was war.

"And the Longbottoms," said a female voice and Severus was close to hitting his head on the closest hard surface. He had told them directly to _stay there_. Which part of it didn't the idiotic being understand?

"I had nothing to do with the Longbottoms," replied the Dark Lord in a tone that Severus had never heard before. It was the tone of someone waiting for a witty comeback. Not of a dark wizard ruling with power and intimidation. When the answer wasn't coming for too long, the red-eyed man turned around and scowled at the ghost. She grinned at him, and flopped down onto the comfortably looking couch near the wall she had entered through.

"So here's the one who killed me."

"Stewart," the Dark Lord said evenly.

"It has been a long time since I was referred to by that name," the girl smiled, grey eyes bright and obviously seeing some recollection of her alive-times.

"You are not angry?" the Dark Lord inquired, not quite surprised. Severus knew that he was currently witnessing something special, he just had no idea how it came about. Was it possible – no, it was _obvious_ that Myrtle knew his master at some level, maybe they had met when she was still alive…

"A ghost of a murdered person that is not angry with their murderer?" he asked incredulously. Oh, certainly – the one who killed her. She had said it. They had met. While she was still alive.

"It was not such a bad way to go. It was instant and painless," the girl replied.

"Nevertheless, you died," noted the Dark Lord, ignoring Nagini's demands.

"Yes." The ghost shrugged. Then she chuckled. "And got to spook Olive Hornby. It was so worth it!"

The Dark Lord's crimson eyes glittered with amusement. The ghost chuckled again.

"I still sometimes think of you," _he_ said to _her_. Severus's jaw dropped. The world was upside down today. Or maybe it had always been and nobody noticed… he realised that it might have been a brilliant idea to bring Potter here, after all. Just because it was so insane. It might have been a great idea to… to… get some strawberry ice-cream. Yes. It would clash with his outfit, but pink seemed to have been in fashion… he mentally slapped himself.

"I should hope so. I was your first, wasn't I?"

Strawberry ice-cream. With bits of chocolate on top of it.

"Yes, you were…"

Severus gaped. Myrtle didn't look older than twelve, thirteen at most…

"My Lord?" he asked, thoroughly upset. Both the man and the ghost gave him strange glances. And then Myrtle grimaced and consequently burst into laughter.

"The first person I killed, Severus," the Dark Lord said evenly and tried to look angry. His snake-like face gained the strained expression of someone who had decided he would not laugh, but had a hard time keeping to that decision.

Since nobody else seemed to do it, Severus pitied himself. He never looked for pity, but he couldn't quite offer himself compassion.

"What do you want, Stewart?" the Dark Lord asked, returning to the business. "And while you're at it, how did you get inside?"

Myrtle lay back – sliding _into_ the backrest – and shrugged.

"Well, I can't find the place, but I can follow people who are going in… easy." Then she suddenly sat straight and looked at her murderer sombrely. The hints of smiles disappeared from both faces, and a twelve-year old successfully pulled an expression that commanded Severus to listen to what she had to say.

"I want you to keep Harry here. Keep him _alive_. And well, if possible."

The Dark Lord didn't let himself be manipulated. Naturally – Severus reminded himself.

"Why should I do that?"

The girl raised her immaterial eyebrows.

"For your Karma?" She tilted her head to the side. "Honestly, I spent fifty years closed in a bathroom, but even I can see the advantages."

The red-eyed wizard nodded.

"I agree. But I have a condition."

"Surprise, surprise."

That was finally over the top. The room darkened, the flames in the lanterns flickered and a few candles went out, leaving thin lines of smoke slither through the air.

"Don't smart-mouth me, Stewart. We have a common history, and that keeps you from obliteration, but I know other ways of harming ghosts. You don't want to get me angry. You're lucky I have had a good day."

Severus drove immense pleasure from the fact that someone successfully put the ghost down, even though it was dangerously near his own person. He would have preferred to hear about it from other people.

"I listen to your condition, Riddle," Myrtle said, calm and – Severus blinked – _apologetic_.

"Do not say that word within my earshot again," the Dark Lord reproached, but didn't get angry this time. She nodded in acquiesce, giving him a silent promise.

And then the Potions Master finally realised what was so different about his master, what he had never seen _him_ do before – act like the little things mattered. Talk to someone who tried to understand the person within the shell, not the Dark Lord. So in the end, perhaps it wasn't himself, whom Potter resembled.

"Aye. What am I supposed to call you?" she asked when she knew it was safe to.

"Severus?"

His head snapped up, as he hadn't been expecting to be called into the conversation.

"My Lord?"

"That works," Myrtle agreed. Nagini seconded her. Severus, apparently amusing his master, groaned.

"I'm becoming tired with this conversation. Stewart, you are staying here. I don't care that you can't locate the fortress, you are not going back to the school." And its Headmaster. That was a clever condition, even though it seemed to have upset the ghost. Much to his surprise there was no sobbing, no wailing, and no _moaning_ involved.

"I have promised to go back and report regularly," she attempted to evade.

"I don't care."

"She's the one who sent Harry here. That was _her_ condition," the ghost insisted, cheeks streaked with earnest, silent tears.

"Severus, do you know who this person is?"

It couldn't have been anyone but Granger.

"Yes, my Lord."

"You will bring _her_ every fourteen days under the disguise of Polyjuice and blindfolded unless _she_'s within Potter's room. Stewart can report there."

He stared, speechless. He had not expected any allowances from this man, but then again, the favoured ones could always count on some leniency. Was Moaning Myrtle favoured? Or himself?

Or worse, was _Potter_ favoured?

He wasn't sure if he wanted to find out. He forced himself to speak.

"Yes, my Lord. Does that mean-"

He was cut off with another command.

"I want you to return straight to Hogwarts, immediately. You are dismissed, Severus."

"Yes, my Lord," he gasped and Disapparated, glad that he didn't have to attend the meeting, though wary of what was going to happen to Draco. However, he was too exhausted to worry about it; the amount of stress he had experienced recently combined with the lack of sleep and food was taking its toll, and Severus limply fell into his bed in the early evening, not even bothering to change.

S-D

"Come, we have to go."

Fleur pulled her hood up, took Draco's hand, and dragged him up the corridor Snape had disappeared in before. He followed, head turned to the side to keep an eye on Potter, who was floating in the air next to him. He repeatedly cursed himself for giving in to his emotions. It was going to get him killed tonight.

Snape had still not re-appeared, and Draco couldn't see him anywhere among the black-robed crowd of wizards. Was he dead already? Or carted off to some tower or basement to be subjected to torture?

He shivered and jolted when Potter's fingers spasmodically grabbed his wrist. These jerks were decidedly eerie… He busied himself with giving another dose of healing energy to Potter, whose overcooling consequences were finally receding, until he realised that the whole room had gone silent and he, Fleur and Potter remained alone in front of the Dark Lord's throne, as the other Death Eaters had stepped back to form an empty circle around them.

"Wake him," was Voldemort's first command. Draco looked at his adversary with regret, but this was something Potter had to be awake for… at least he thought so…

"_Ennervate_."

"Wha…" Potter started, but hushed as the flood of uniformed wizards came into his sight. "Aha."

Draco hated himself. And hated Potter for making him hate himself.

"Tom?" Potter inquired quietly and, to Draco's greatest surprise, the Dark Lord arose from his throne and paced down to the boy lying on the stretcher. Said boy meanwhile struggled to sit up, and Fleur helped him. He _smiled_ at her as he recognised her and muttered under his breath: "Good for you." She and Draco were the only ones who heard.

Then Potter stood up, and on wobbly knees took step by step forward to meet the man he was supposed to kill. How anybody in his state was able to stand, let alone walk by himself, remained a mystery to Draco, though this particular patient was rumoured to be capable of impossible things. The blond Slytherin felt something alien within his chest as he watched the undersized teenager calmly go to meet his doom.

A step shy from the Dark Lord, Potter sank to his knees – whether deliberately or not was indistinguishable. Draco subconsciously moved, but a pair of slender yet strong hands held him in place.

The Dark Lord laughed coldly, put his hand on Potter's crown and forced the boy's head up. Green eyes clashed with red and the entire hall went completely silent.

"Such delightful irony. You were eleven, Potter, not more than a snotty brat, and I couldn't touch you… now, nearly a full-fledged wizard, and I could crush you in one hand."

Potter looked up through the spaces between the Dark Lord's fingers and smiled. It wasn't a happy smile, but a content one, and it seemed to light up his face. Draco realised that the Gryffindor had not smiled in weeks.

"Do it," he said quietly, evenly, with the content from his expression colouring his voice.

The Dark Lord frowned. Potter kept smiling.

"Please," he whispered. The Lord hissed, and, seconds later, his familiar was sliding down the stairs from his throne.

"Flower!" Voldemort ordered, and a split-second later Potter's body sank to the floor, lifeless. "No!" Draco, loosing the grip, cried out and lunged forwards, because the hands weren't holding him anymore. The room filled with gasps, but he didn't attack their master – as the Death Eaters must have expected – but stopped next to Potter.

He was alive. Yet.

The Dark Lord cackled again, sitting down on the throne, and Draco's vision blurred as he realised he had just sealed his fate. Snape was dead, Potter was close to, and soon he would be a goner himself.

"As it is," he continued, "we are witnesses to a family reunion! Lucius!"

The man called stepped forth from where he was standing in the midst of his fellows. His usual demeanour – cold, impeccable and intimidating – had not suffered in Azkaban – if anything, it was enhanced. Deeper creases marred his face and the occasional sparkle in his eyes turned into a blaze of madness, not quite overwhelming enough to render the man useless for the Dark Lord, yet scaring Draco with its implications.

"My Lorrrd…" the elder Malfoy slurred, the predatory look never straying from his son and the stretched-out body at _his_ feet.

"What do you intend to do with this turn of events?"

"My Lorrrd?" the blond questioned. Voldemort shifted slightly on his 'throne', resting his chin on the palm of his left hand, while his left elbow was propped comfortably on the arm of the chair.

"Draco, what do you yearn to do right now?" the snake-like wizard asked cruelly, with amusement clearly readable in his crimson eyes. Draco tried to clear his throat, but ended up in a coughing fit, almost choking on the words. He couldn't lie. Tears pressed in his eyes, as he voiced those fateful words: "I want to heal Harry Potter, my Lord…"

The silence was so profound that he would have heard a feather flutter to the ground, as the entire audience shut up and froze at once. In the stillness Lord Voldemort faced his former right-hand man.

"So, Lucius?"

"He's no son of mine!" Malfoy spat, showing a missing tooth in the front as he sneered.

Draco sank to his knees, putting both his hands on Potter and allowing himself to give over all the power within himself. He wasn't going to need it anymore, but maybe, maybe they would let Potter live, or just something – some _miracle_ would happen.

Not for him, but for Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the Saviour, The Chosen One, youngest Seeker in a century, the Boy Wonder, the ultimate Gryffindor – for that fairy-tale-ish person a miracle _could_ happen. He wanted to believe.

Voldemort once more arose from his throne, gracefully, which was unexpected of someone of his built, and stepped down to the pair of boys.

"Stop," he commanded, as his shadow fell on Draco's face. Draco disobeyed.

"Stop!"

This time there was no choice – the command had to be executed. Draco's hands fell limp alongside his thighs and he stared at Potter's lily-white face, because _he_ wasn't brave enough to face his doom.

"As you wish, Lucius," acknowledged the Dark Lord, and smirked, though the blond Slytherin couldn't see the expression. "Draco is no longer your son. You no longer have any authority over him."

His hand landed on Draco's crown, like on Potter's before; it did not strike – it simply touched. Draco shivered in fear and amazement and awe, because that greenish, reptile-like limb was _warm_.

"Go with Flower, child, and take your Bestowed with you. You shall acquire a suite and a custodian worthy of your exceptionality."

Draco blinked and looked up. Into a fairy-tale.


	8. Morning

Chapter 8: Morning

Draco didn't really perceive much, due to being shocked, shivering and sweating, as he was lead out of the hall by a smiling Fleur Delacour. The shrieks, gasps and muffled conversation created a cacophony in the background, and he didn't really care, except that both he and Harry Potter were going to _live_!

"Draco!" yelled a cheerful girly voice, and he looked that way. His mind failed to supply him with any kind of association.

"Hi…" he said dumbly.

"Was _his Lordship_ mean to you? Oh, I'm sorry, I wanted to go give you a thumbs-up, but he forbade me… Snarky Git was ordered to go straight to Hogwarts, so he couldn't tell you that… Draco? Are you listening to me?"

He nodded and glanced at Harry. It didn't matter to him that it was Harry and not Potter anymore. It didn't matter that Harry was the Boy Who Lived, because he lived and therefore Draco was allowed to live too…

"Is he alright?"

Draco blinked.

"I don't know. He's not worse. He's not better."

"What does that mean?" Fleur inquired nervously.

"Stuck in the middle of fading," he replied flatly, and eased himself down on the soft, cool bed, not caring in the least that the better part of it was already occupied. It was a big bed.

"Draco, you should really-"

"Shh-rup…" he managed, and Harry's fingers closed around his wrist again. What was 'Bestowed' anyway? Exceptionality his foot… Sleep…

D-M

"Poppy? Have you seen Severus?"

The nurse abandoned a single occupied bed in the row. There was a bit of bushy brown hair visible, but Minerva dismissed the idea, because she had had the last lesson of the day with Gryffindor and Hufflepuff sixth-years, and Hermione Granger was – as always – present.

"No. Any particular reason?"

Minerva rubbed her temple. Poppy sauntered off to one of the cases that were lined along the wall and buried her head in it.

"No, not much. Just that Pomona and Filius said that Potter wasn't in their classes today, either, so I wondered if he perhaps didn't have an accident in Potions…"

"Oh yes, Severus tends to be mean to that boy-"

"Poor histor- Poppy, is that the Sorting Hat?"

The medi-witch came back and pressed a glass with water in Minerva's hand to hold, while she measured ten drops from a blue vial into it.

"Drink up. What did you ask?"

"Is that the Sorting Hat?" Minerva repeated, pointed at a lonely object on one of the bedsides, and took a few gulps from the glass.

"Oh… yes, it is," Poppy admitted, and Minerva sighed with relief as her headache receded.

"What is the Sorting Hat doing in the hospital wing?" she asked, furrowing her brows.

The medi-witch shrugged, uncaring.

"One of the ghosts brought it earlier. I thought I'd give it to Albus if he turned up, or send some student with it later…"

"Ghost?" Minerva wondered. She didn't remember any of the ghosts ever stealing school property (aside from Peeves, but that infuriating thing wasn't a proper ghost).

"Yes, one of them…"

"Oh, well. If you heard anything from either Severus or Potter, let me know, please."

"Of course. Good night, Minerva."

M-D

"I've had worse nightmares, but this one doesn't look like it's from Voldemort, and if my mind did this to me, it's disturbing…" There was some shuffling, a groan, and muttering. "Fuck, but I feel too bad for this not to be reality…"

"Hello, Harry," said a girl's voice, not ever attempting to sound cheerful. Draco buried his face in the pillow to shut them out. Darkness he achieved successfully, silence not.

"Hi Myrtle," the Gryffindor said, voice heavy with cynicism, "by the way I feel I guess I didn't quite manage to die. Sorry." That one last word was spoken with honesty and it angered Draco enough to lift himself on his elbows and stop trying to convince everyone that he was still sleeping.

"You stupid, selfish jerk!"

For a moment the entire room froze and Draco blinked, realising what he had said. It was not nearly as bad as the other insults he used to throw at Harry.

Then the Gryffindor broke down in uncontrollable peals of laughter. Draco didn't see Myrtle, but she didn't join in the display. His sleep-mudded brain came to the conclusion that Harry was being hysterical. Though why exactly…

"S-selfish!" the Saviour managed to voice between the choking/sobbing/giggling trashing of his body. Draco was so stunned, that he didn't know what to do. He just lay there, unmoving, and watched wide-eyed at the manifestation of mental disintegration of a boy that was… younger than him. How could someone be so… _damaged_? And could he be _fixed_? The Slytherin had no better idea than to wait until the fit subsided and Heal what he could.

"That was good," Harry nodded as if to agree with himself, "that was… Hey, I remember Voldemort refusing to off me when I graciously gave him permission! Was that because of Snape's drugs, or real?"

"Real, Harry. You are at Tom's home. And you are a _guest_," Myrtle said quietly, and worriedly watched as the words made Harry start snickering again.

"You don't have glasses," the green-eyed boy remarked off-topic. Draco re-buried his face in the pillow to save himself. It didn't quite work, because the sound – which was the worse part – still reached him.

"I don't really see – I perceive… so I don't need glasses."

"You shouldn't wear them then; you're much prettier without them."

"Er… thanks, I suppose."

"So, Draco Malfoy is a Natural Healer?"

Draco's head shot up. Harry was looking at him with the same kind of interest as Granger, Snape and the Dark Lord had before. It unnerved him now, perhaps more than yesterday in the hall. But then, yesterday he had had more pressing matters to worry about.

"And he didn't know it before? And I am his first Bestowed? Cool. Though I would have preferred it the other way."

"You being the Healer?"

"Nope. Me being dead." Draco's head dropped. The Boy Who Lived was _hopeless_. Not even Myrtle found the talk even remotely amusing anymore. It was just morbid. He wished for an unconscious Harry.

"Why's there a glamour spell on me?" the Gryffindor inquired, sliding out of the bed with ease which should have been weeks of recovering away from him. Maybe Natural Healing was different from normal ways… Maybe Draco was _exceptionally_ good… Or maybe just Harry Golden Boy Potter refused to suffer like anyone else would.

"Yeah, right…" Draco grunted when he remembered the occasion which resulted in the casting of _that_ Glamour. He wasn't happy about that recollection. More like embarrassed… "Snape put it on after you spontaneously changed your hair-colour and I freaked."

"Joy. I'll never get Snape out of my hair," Harry said seriously and it was just too funny to not laugh for both himself and Myrtle. He knew he shouldn't have – to laugh in front of a hysterical person was a _bad_ idea. With Pansy around, one learnt such things…

"Was that a joke?" Myrtle inquired with a soft smile on her lips. Apparently, _she_ didn't know Pansy.

"Am I not allowed to have a sense of humour now?" Potter retaliated and the duo laughed again. Draco didn't join in this time, rather forced his screaming limbs to hold him upright and scoffed at the little of his appearance he could see without a mirror. It was critical. To be honest – it was long past critical.

"I've seen you so depressed that you have attempted suicide – sober, I might add," the blond stated seriously, "Sorry if this seems a little… improbable to me."

"He's smart," Harry quipped, leering.

"He is," Myrtle agreed.

"But not as smart as me."

"No, _Tom_, never as smart as you."

"Tom?" Draco's head shot up, and he heard the proverbial flourish that signalled that something tremendously wrong was going to be revealed.

"I've had me in my head since I remember," Harry explained, prodding his scar with his finger and happily – though not even resembling sane – went about exploring the room. Draco felt that he should do the same – it might become his for a long term, according to what the Dark Lord said – but thus far he hadn't paid attention to anything but the blue carpet and white sheets.

From the bed he could only see that the entire room was dome in blue and gold colour – quite tasty, and looking more expensive than it really was. Definitely nothing as his bedroom at the Malfoy Manor – this was a room for adult people, not for a child. And it was painfully empty.

"It's weird," the ghost said, and floated over to Harry to stroke his scar. The boy stood still for her to do so. It _was_ weird. The Harry Potter Draco remembered never let anyone-

He cut off that thought, discarding it as completely irrelevant.

"It was," Harry touched her cheek in response, ignoring the chill it must have given him, "For you, too… like, the same guy, twice-"

"Wh- How do you know?"

By now Draco decided that he really _didn't_ want to know what they were talking about, and that he would just take care of his appearance and eventually do some damage control… honestly, Gryffindors' irresponsibility knew no boundaries.

"I've had me in my head since I remember."

Done casting Refreshment and Hair-styling charms, Draco spun on his heel and sighed.

"Ha- Potter…" Thinking it was one thing, but saying it, especially in front of other people, entirely different. He just wanted the blasted monster to shut up for a while, dammit!

"Yeah?"

"You're a…"

But Harry didn't find out what Draco thought he was, because then the door opened and inside stepped the tall, sable form of the Hogwarts' Potions Professor.

"Draco? Myrtle? Ah, I see that Mr Potter has graced us with his conscious presence-"

Harry's face twisted in a grimace of anger, but then he blinked and it seemed to just have disappeared, only to be replaced by pain. The wand flew out of Snape's fingers and before anyone realised what was going on, Harry held it in his hand, with its tip jabbed into his forehead exactly on the spot where the scar ended.

"Deletr-"

Draco threw himself on the Gryffindor, wrestling his hand away and sending them sprawling on the floor. He didn't particularly care about that.

"Don't upset him! Are you mad?" screeched Myrtle somewhere on the edge of his perception, while Harry struggled to get out from under Draco or at least aim the wand at himself again. The strength the emaciated, close to death body was able to muster was shocking, and the blond had to strain his muscles to prevent another suicide attempt. Something snapped and pain flashed through Harry's eyes. Draco pried the wand from his fingers with ease.

"Not mad, he's just totally stupid!" Draco snapped between pants. The damned Golden Boy was barely alive, and he still almost managed to get the better of Draco.

"Get out of here!" Draco retained his grip on both Harry's wrists while keeping the boy down with the weight of his body, though it seemed unnecessary. Soundless, calm tears trickled down paper-white cheeks while the pair of green eyes stared lifelessly over Draco's shoulder. Were it not for the pulse he felt on the wrists, he would have feared that the Gryffindor eventually did somehow kill himself.

Draco shifted slightly, only so that he could see Snape still standing in the doorway, frozen in shock.

"Didn't you hear? Get out!"

Snape failed to obey. Fortunately for him Draco already was past the climax of his anger and now was going through the phase of calming down.

"Myrtle, get him out… please."

He didn't see what the ghost did (only guessed that it had found its way, as the door slammed) because exactly at that moment Harry's entire body spasmed and consequently fell slack.


	9. Cockroach Clusters

Chapter 9: Cockroach Clusters

"Draco, that was-"

A glare from the blond made Severus shut up. Of course, Draco Malfoy was rather prone to casting glares (though never before did he dare direct one at Severus personally) and their potency seemed to be extremely high if one was to judge by the number of Hufflepuffs reduced to tears, but it shouldn't have worked.

Severus blinked in surprise at his own reaction and scrutinised the child in front of him. The hereditary grey eyes were glowing with internal light that he didn't recall. Overall, the ever impeccable Malfoy Junior stood there in wrinkled clothes – the same ones he had worn the day before – sweating, with his hair messed and his expression anything but coldly indifferent as it was supposed to be, yet Severus didn't recall him ever looking as forceful and… well, _adult_ as right now.

"Mr Malfoy-"

"Stuff it!" the blond barked and the grey glare bore deeper into Severus's skull. "I'm not in the mood! I have just had to Heal extensive wandless spell-damage scattered throughout the entire body and I tell you, that's not something you would want to be doing even with perfect knowledge of anatomy and histology. Whereas mine goes as far as a few practical lessons."

The boy took several deep breaths to calm down and then just sagged against the wall of the corridor, his head narrowly missing a torch-holder. It was obvious that despite having awakened less than half an hour before, Draco was exhausted again. Which was really not good, because the Dark Lord wished to meet him before mealtime.

"Draco-"

The blond shook his head, slid down the stone, and hid his face behind his forearms.

"Go away. I don't want to see you now."

Severus sighed, pinched the root of his nose and immediately cursed himself for doing it. It still hurt – even healing spells weren't able to right it without any consequences. He had gotten all the blood off, though, after the thrice-damned ghost slammed the door into his face – literally.

"Draco?" inquired another voice urgently. The boy looked up, worn out. Severus couldn't tear his eyes from him to look at Myrtle.

"What are you doing here? You should watch-"

"He woke up."

Draco gasped. The astonished look on his face said 'impossible', but the three of them had learnt not to use that word in relation to the Boy Who Lived. It was a harsh lesson. More so for Draco than for Severus himself.

He offered his hand. Draco, perhaps out of reflex, took it, and the two of them followed the ghost back to the room. Potter was propped back against his pillow, waiting for them. There was no readable emotion on his face, until he cast that pained look at the blond Slytherin, who automatically went to sit on the side of the bed and reached out for _Potter_'s hand.

"Why?" Potter asked. Severus wondered that, too.

"Why?" Draco asked back, and this time the Potions Master was totally lost. He didn't seem to be able to follow his favourite student anymore. Young Malfoy had gone forth to a realm of beings that received and gave special treatment, based on their exceptional powers. Potter was there long ago. When two such beings clashed… he couldn't but watch.

"It would be better for everyone," Potter answered as first.

"It wouldn't be better for me. Or Granger. Or…"

"Tom?"

"He doesn't want you dead," Myrtle offered, dispelling the strange tension that originated between Potter and Draco. Severus let out a breath he didn't realise he was holding.

"That is a first," Potter whispered to the ghost, who merely shrugged in response and floated away from the room.

"Draco, the Dark Lord wishes to meet you. As soon as possible."

The blond bit his tongue to silence the curse. He looked up at Potter and received a searching gaze back. A white glow momentarily flared between the two boys hands and Potter flinched.

"Promise that you will not harm yourself while I am gone."

"What does it matter to you?"

"I'll be damned if I know," Draco admitted, and it brought ghost of smile to Potter's face, as though it reassured him that there were others beside him confused by the situation.

He cocked his head to the side, examining Draco's face, and then, quite suddenly, his eyes widened with realisation. It rather shocked Severus – he certainly had not expected the dunderhead to figure out something someone as bright as Draco couldn't understand.

"Motivate me."

Draco nervously pushed his hair out of his face, clutching strands of it on his temples. Severus was already bringing out his wand to simply stun the trouble that was Harry Potter and be over with it, when the blond replied.

"You can live. Here. This can be your room."

Potter blinked. He stared in Draco's eyes for a while, until Severus became impatient again, and then sighed.

"I won't harm myself until you've come back."

D-D

"My Lord," Draco said more or less evenly, and was immediately flooded by the sense of accomplishment. His knees were mightily uncomfortable on the cold, hard floor of the hall, but he didn't dare move. Even with his head hung low and his eyes trained on the cleft between two tiles, he could still feel the crimson gaze focused on him.

"Don't grovel, Draco. It is unbecoming of such a unique creature."

Draco's head shot up, eyes wide and stating a clear question: 'Me? A unique creature?' The Dark Lord laughed at the boy's amazement and gestured for him to stand up.

"Yesterday, I was angry that the Malfoys failed to inform me of this occurrence. Then it was brought to my attention, that this development is recent… As I presumed – Healing was not added to Hogwarts' curriculum in the past fifty years."

"My Lord?" Draco was beginning to feel a distinct similarity to the Headmaster in the wizard in front of him. There was still no lemon drop offered (though he suspected he would more likely get a Cockroach Cluster in this place), but the cup in Voldemort's right hand seemed eerily familiar, and he was receiving riddles instead of answers.

"Severus must have informed you that you are a Natural Healer, child?"

Draco inwardly huffed at being called a child. Overall he felt unsure what he was expected to answer. He crossed his fingers, hidden in the folds of the too-long sleeves of his Death Eater robe.

"Professor Snape did inform me, but I'm afraid I don't know exactly what it means-"

"And that is where your education is severely lacking, child. Starting today, you will rectify that mistake."

Draco cringed. With the Dark Lord, the word 'mistake' was usually followed by the word 'Crucio'… He closed his eyes when the wizard arose and tensed in anticipation… and blinked at the alien feeling of fingers touching his face. He didn't remember anyone ever touching him like that.

"I told you not to grovel, Draco." Gently guided by the same fingers under his jaw, Draco stood up. "Since you have been disowned yesterday, do you wish to remain independent or to be adopted?"

He was being asked? Given a choice? Not an order? Draco didn't know what to make of it – he was once again unsure how was he supposed to reply. He didn't want to be on his own – he didn't think he would be able to survive, especially without his father's money… On the other hand, he might have been better alone than forced to obey some of the Death Eaters…

"May I have time to think about it, my Lord?"

Voldemort smiled. It was scary.

"Certainly."

"Thank you, my Lord," Draco said quickly and lowered his head, waiting for dismissal. He wasn't as lucky.

"In the meantime, you will study materials discussing your current condition."

D-N

"Fleur? Come in."

The door opened and the slim, black-clad figure slid inside.

"How did you know it was me?" she asked, shell-shocked, while pulling off her hood and checking her hair in the mirror reflexively. "How could you even know I was here?" She doubted he had even noticed her yesterday.

Harry merely shrugged, and pushed himself up to sit straight.

"Guess you don't know each other. This is Myrtle. This is Fleur," he said bluntly. The woman and the ghost eyed each other apprehensively, and eventually nodded to satisfy the necessary etiquette. When Fleur turned to face him, Myrtle waved at Harry half-heartedly behind her back, and floated out of the room.

"Harry, I'm so glad that you are alright! Yesterday was quite terrifying – I swear I've never seen the Dark Lord act… like that. Even Bill was worried about you…"

Harry groaned and rubbed his eyes. Not that it was going to make the reality disappear, but at least it gave him an excuse not to look at it for almost half a minute. Eventually, he shook his head and gave her a smile that was as dishonest as it was rueful.

"Bill was there?" he asked.

"Yes, yes, of course."

Harry sighed and closed his eyes. He didn't want any of the Weasleys to end among the Death Eaters. He was brought into this place against his will, and the only reason for him staying where he was, was that he promised it to Draco Malfoy, who had saved his life… against his will.

"Why?"

"Why what?" she asked, nonchalantly flipping a lock of hair out of her face. Harry was reminded of the fact that while Fleur was a great asset in a battle, in other serious situations in life she was rather… well, her priorities were different. Which might have been one of the reasons why she didn't win the Triwizard Tournament.

"Why did Bill join Voldemort?"

She didn't flinch, but squirmed uncomfortably.

"You see, Harry… oh… Bill is a very protective man. And he just loves Gabrielle… And…" She shook her head and folded her hands. "I don't know exactly what happened, only that werewolves attacked my family, at noon, quite unexpectedly, and Bill went there to save my sister… and when he returned the Headmaster gave him trouble for disobeying a direct order…"

That sounded like Dumbledore. The old wizard was a good man, but he often lost sight of people when he concentrated on the greater good. Harry didn't doubt that the quest Bill had abandoned had been extremely important to cause such a reaction, but he agreed that no matter what it was, family had preference.

"There were consequences?"

"The Headmaster wanted Bill to quit the Order, but the others voted for him to stay. The only thing that happened was that we re-assessed our sides in the war," Fleur admitted. Harry personally thought that joining the Death Eaters was too extreme, but Bill usually wasn't one for rash decisions. There were most likely more, perhaps only small things, but they must have been important to sway a Weasley to Voldemort.

"My family always had strong ties to the Dark Lord," Fleur stated, and the pride in her voice told Harry that she was actually _glad_ that Bill decided to join. He never felt any particular emotions toward her, but right now he was angry. Not that there was anything he could do.

"So… I suppose you are happy," he said, keeping the bitterness from his voice with practised ease.

"Very!" she exclaimed excitedly. "Well, I have to run, I only dropped in to make sure you're fine, so that Bill won't worry…"

Harry was glad that she wouldn't stay longer. Right now he didn't feel strong enough to reign his anger. Not harming himself was taking a lot of his self-control.

"Why won't he come himself?"

"You don't know? You've been forbidden to receive visits." Harry's expression darkened. Fuck being allowed to stay in the room, when he wasn't allowed to leave. When he wasn't even allowed to see his friends. This was what he was trying to avoid – being controlled.

"I would be glad if you didn't mention this to anybody…"

"I won't," Harry promised. He wasn't a back-stabber, even when he disliked the woman.

"Thanks. Bye, Harry. Get well quickly."

"Bye, Fleur."

As soon as she was out he exhaled loudly, and cast a Locking Charm on the door. Malfoy wouldn't be back in a long while anyway, and who knew what kind of individuals might mistakenly stray in his room… He was better off undisturbed.

"Hussy's gone?" chirped a curious voice.

"Fortunately," Harry replied, realising that despite his former wish to be alone, he didn't mind Myrtle's company.

"I'd be glad if you didn't mention this to anybody…" she mocked, rippling to enhance the effect. Harry chuckled. He decided he liked Myrtle when she was acting like herself and not like a mad poltergeist.

"I suppose I won't have to?" he suggested. She smirked evilly.

"Definitely not, Harry. Let me to do the job… Duh, the floozy's almost as bad as Hornby!" She cast a dark glance at the door. Harry made himself comfortable, sinking into the pillows. He watched Myrtle's face, biting his lip, lost in reminiscence.

"Didn't you ever envy her?"


	10. Chance

A/N: Beta-ed by **Katie** aka **shuichi'sgirl**. A round of applause, please!

Chapter 10: Chance

"Envy Olive Hornby? What? That she was half-blood, beautiful, smart and rich? Or that she married the heir to one of the most powerful wizarding families, who coincidentally became a Minister? That she never had to do anything but be pretty and well-mannered in her entire life? Or that she had three beautiful children that had their children and…"

"Oh Merlin… I'm sorry Myrtle…"

Myrtle glared at him, but Harry knew she wasn't really angry. When he didn't do anything, she sighed and let her true feelings – nostalgia and bitterness – resurface.

"You know what? Me too. But explain that to my parents, classmates, the entire society and one Tom Riddle…"

"Myrtle, I think he's sorry, too. He would never say something like that aloud, mind you, but I think that sometimes he wishes he had not done that."

He didn't really know this, but of all the people who fought against Lord Voldemort, Harry understood him best. They had a lot in common… and Harry _wanted_ to understand. Therefore he was pretty sure that Tom Riddle remorselessly slaughtered _his_ uncle, but wasn't comfortable about killing a little girl. At the time. Today he wouldn't mind much.

"Why?"

Harry smiled.

"Because than he would have ultimately become somebody else?" he suggested. Myrtle huffed.

"As good a reason as any other, I suppose."

Harry's smile faded. He searched for a reply, and could think of many, but none brought anything of any consequence. Things were what they all made them to be, and for him and her, there was little good in life… but she had also lost her illusions about death.

"I don't know what to say."

She shrugged.

"There's nothing you can." The ghost looked away from him and concentrated on something outside the window. From his position on the bed, Harry couldn't see what she was watching.

"Hey, Harry…" she said quietly, calmly. "I know now that there's not a chance you could love me, just as I know that there's not a chance you will actually come back as a ghost if you die… would you do something for me?"

He lived his entire life for other people, and since he liked Myrtle, he wouldn't mind doing something for her. But actually dealing with the people he was doing things for made Harry suspicious.

"I'll try. There's not much I'm allowed to do…"

"This you are. By a little stretch, perhaps," she admitted. He gave her a scrutiny – which had little effect, since she was across the room from him and half-transparent. Still, he didn't think Myrtle would try and get him into something he would later regret.

"Okay…"

She stared straight at him. She seemed… excited. _Positively_ excited.

"Exorcise me."

Harry gulped, suddenly feeling weary. His head spun slightly, though it was probably due to his weakened state.

"You don't mean that."

She sneered and spat: "That's rich, coming from you."

"Oh." She was right. He wanted to die; her wish wasn't much different. Although it was more complicated to end your existence when you were dead – for example, she couldn't have done it herself. She needed help. His help.

"Alright. Are you really sure?"

She nodded.

"Yes. I am."

Harry rubbed his temples.

"Okay. I will do it. But I'll have to learn how to do it first, and I don't have the access to the library yet, so you'll have enough time for some gossip with Tom." Knowing Voldemort, this place had an extensive library. With emphasis on Dark Arts. There was bound to be an entire shelf dedicated to exorcising of all kinds. It would take him some time, but, since he had promised Malfoy not to kill himself until _he_ came back, he had a perfect opportunity to ignore some orders, go out for a walk, and find some light reading along the way.

Myrtle had no objections.

"Whatever, Harry. I waited for fifty years, I can wait another month. Or two. Or twelve."

It wouldn't take so long. A week, perhaps. If he was too unlucky and feeling very weak.

"Don't worry. I'll find a way."

N-D

Draco walked quietly, as he was obviously supposed to, a respectful half-step behind the Dark Lord. A tall, thin, bespectacled Death Eater led them into the depths of the fortress. Draco had never met him before. Judging by his look, he liked dark quiet corners, solitude and books. Right now he was holding a stack of them balanced on his left hand, and a lantern in his right. It cast long shadows on the walls, but provided enough light in the less used – and thus torch-free – corridors.

He hadn't expected that they would encounter anyone in this part of the castle, yet when they finally halted, a yellow glow moved toward them from the opposite end of the hallway they were in. The Dark Lord waited, curious and amused at the same time. The strange Death Eater Draco suspected to be the librarian yelped and sought refuge behind an old, double-winged wooden door.

The yellow glow remained the only light in the room, but by now in was obviously a candle carried by a single person. Their footsteps were quiet and careful, as though they didn't quite know the environment. Draco saw their – _his_ – face, but didn't recognise him.

"I issued orders," the Dark Lord said. His eyes glowed insanely.

"I never was one for following rules," replied the comer, and Draco's eyes widened. Despite the echo, he recognised the voice… It was Harry.

"You're not well enough to be out of bed-"

"As all three of us see, _Draco_, I obviously _am_ well enough," the boy replied smoothly and came to a halt mere steps in front of Voldemort. He wore the second set of Draco's Death Eater robes. They were too large for him, and hung ridiculously around his small, emaciated frame, making him look smaller yet, innocent, fragile, and powerless.

'Manipulative little bastard…' Draco thought with awe, having realised that the boy could have easily adjusted the clothes to fit him, because he had changed the colour already. It was green – not the deep, rich Slytherin green, nor the sickly green of Avada Kedavra but a happy bright grass-green, obviously chosen to spite the Dark Lord.

"I don't like it when my orders are disobeyed," the Dark Lord stated dangerously. Harry chuckled without an iota of humour.

"I know. And I don't much care. You can either somehow deal with it, or kill me. Oh, or you can torture me into insanity."

Did that happen? The way Harry said it, and the way he was looking at Voldemort, as though he was _daring him_, made Draco believe it. He didn't feel anything, though – it was something so alien, so unimaginable, that he couldn't even sympathise. He couldn't picture it. However, he could picture the Dark Lord's reaction to Harry's behaviour very well.

"You promised-"

"That I won't harm myself until you come back to the room."

Draco repeated the words in his head, and belatedly realised that there wasn't anything in the promise that would stop Harry from provoking Voldemort into killing him. That way not even Draco could prevent him dying.

Yet the Dark Lord didn't intend to kill Harry.

"Draco, you have your orders. Ask Joaquim for assistance."

He hesitated.

"Draco, go," the Dark Lord ordered in a low, dangerous hiss. He couldn't but comply.

D-N

"It was not my doing," Voldemort said when they two remained alone in the corridor, engulfed in a Silencing Charm. Harry narrowed his eyes.

"No, it wasn't. But you would like it. Find it… _amusing_."

"Perhaps. But it is ridiculous to blame me."

Harry crossed his hands, leaving the candle to float freely between them. His teachers neglected to inform him that he wasn't able to cast a Hovering Charm without a wand.

"The deed itself was not your responsibility. The intention and means were… But I didn't come here to argue with you. I knew since I was eleven that pointless cruelty was your favourite pastime."

"What did you come here for? And how did you-"

"Get out of the room?"

Voldemort scowled at being cut off, but didn't say anything since Harry was answering his question anyway.

"It was child play. Quite literally. Sticking cylinders through the circular hole and cubes through the square hole."

Voldemort, quite out-of-character, scoffed.

"Your metaphors for visualised magic lack imagination."

Harry shrugged.

"Well… I dismantled _your_ wards. The _Dark Lord_'s wards. If I lack imagination… I obviously don't need it."

"You intrigue me," Tom said with glee. It didn't happen often that wizards managed to undo his permanent spells. It never happened with a child before. And definitely not with a person whose interpretation of the dismantling was sticking figures through holes.

"I always did," the boy replied lightly, but his expression was serene. There was too much truth in the statement. But the Dark Lord refused to be sucked into a political (because whatever happened between them in the past was politics) debate.

"What did you come here for?" he repeated coldly. Harry smirked.

"To check out a book, of course. This trip is going to mess with the study plan Hermione devised for me."

N-N

An hour later Tom was still feeling torn between destroying his image by laughing at the impossible brat, sending him back to the room and installing wards that would be _much_ harder to undo, and _Crucioing_ him. He was frustrated, and amused, and frustrated because he couldn't afford to show his amusement.

The Child Wonder was sitting on a replica of his throne it had conjured for itself, huddled in its overly large robes, and disconcerting him. He was quite certain that it wouldn't simply die on him, but at times it looked like it was going to. Ironic, how after years of striving to destroy it, he now strove to keep it alive, for that way it was of a better use to him. Trouble was that Harry Potter didn't seem to listen.

"Tom, you can tell these things to your followers. I have my own brain, and I _know_ you: you don't do anything from the goodness of your heart," the boy said calmly, thoroughly enjoying that the Dark Lord wished to strike him down, but had to restrain himself. "Even if you had a heart, it most certainly wouldn't be good."

"If I had a heart it would be easy to kill me," Voldemort replied indifferently.

"Yeah. Tell _me_ about it. Doesn't mean I won't keep trying, though."

"You cannot kill me if you are dead," he remarked. The boy, of course, knew that already. But he also knew – as opposed to the wizard in front of him – that according to the Phophecy (in the case it wasn't fabricated) as soon as he was dead _anybody_ could kill the Dark Lord. And warlocks such as Dumbledore had a much better chance than a sixteen-year-old with unfinished education.

"Oh, so there's one con, and about… thousand pros. Pity. It seems that I'll be dying without the 'proper' celebrations."

Voldemort finally bent under the weight of the hours worth of frustration. He stood up sharply, and jabbed his wand into the child's neck.

"Did you not listen at all, Potter?! Your precious Headmaster poisoned you! You are not wanted anymore! I – _I_ am the _only one_ who gives you a chance!"

The boy stood up as well, unabashedly pushing the wand away, and faced upwards to look into Voldemort's eyes.

"Did _you_ not listen at all?" he asked quietly. "I don't want it."

He spun on his heel and strode to the exit. The Dark Lord's hand trembled, rising by itself, but he forced himself to stop the curse that was already forming around the tip of his wand.

"I don't care what you want, Potter," he spat. "But you refuse to see reason, so I tell you directly what choices you have. You give me Dumbledore, or I'll flatten the school. With the entire generation inside."

The boy froze. Then he straightened, cocked his head to the side, and – his back still turned on the Dark Lord – replied with a dead calm: "As I said, Tom. You have no heart."


	11. Lesson

A/N:Thanks everyone for your encouraging reviews! Please, send more!  
Brynn

Chapter 11: Lesson

Hours after he had entered the Library, Draco trudged out. He was knackered, thirsty, and his eyes hurt like there was no tomorrow. He didn't learn much, but he had found his shelf and drawn a map, so he had a chance that it wouldn't take him more than ten minutes or so to find it, _should_ the tomorrow come after all.

What he did find out – the one thing he wanted to know first and searched for directly – was the reason why he _wanted_ Harry Potter to stay alive and well. He wasn't quite dure yet how it worked, but the 'bond' between the Healer and his Bestowed created a heightened empathy between them – sort of a link for emotions. He shuddered to think of what was to come in the future: other Bestowed, many of them, each with their own set of problems and fears and pains, laying them all on Draco… makind him _want_ to help them.

He decided he was paying for his father's sins.

With a heavy, over-dramatc sigh he adjusted the heavy tome he had taken with himself (when Joaquim wasn't looking) under his left arm, and pushed the door to the room that was temporarily his and Harry's open.

Harry was already there. He had brought one of the chairs from the table to the cntre of the room, facing the window. He was sitting backwards on it, though, watching the door, with his chin on his forearms rested on the backrest. There was a faint smell of pain in the air and Draco wondered if Harry had broken his promise, or somebody else did it to him. He hastily went in, carelessly threw the book on one of the beds, and closed the door behind himself, ignoring the buzz of the wards.

"What-"

"You are back…" Harry said tonelessly. Draco's eyes widened and he jumped… but he wasn't fast enough.

"I wish you would stop this…" he said quietly, closing his eyes and pressing his palm against Harry's slashed throat. _He_ should have known this wasn't a quick enough method to stop Draco from Healing _him_… then again, persumably _his_ knowledge of physiology was as limited as Draco's own. If that was the case, then hopefully the Boy Who Barely Lived wouldn't get his fingers on any textbook in the near future.

"I don't want to… I can't kill another person!" the boy sobbed. With closed eyes he looked like old Muggle films – black and white. The only colour, striking on the background, was the crimson stain.

"You don't have to kill anyone…"

Harry sobbed again and laughed at the same time.

"I do… I do… I always do… just me and it can stop… it will all stop… Look. I'll show you." The sudden calm was in such a contrast to the previous hystery, that Draco unthinkingly obeyed, getting up and helping Harry, too. The Gryffindor was absolutely unbalanced, not strong enough to stand on his own, yet he forced Draco to walk across the room and stand so that they both faced the mirror.

"Look at him, Draco," he said, pointing straight forwards. "Harry Potter."

Draco shook his head. The _real_ Harry Potter was hanging off his shoulder, way too light, too weak, too cold to be healthy, but he _was_ alive. Three-dimensional. _Real_.

Still, _he_ scoffed.

"'Harry Potter' is nothing more than his reflection in the mirror. A shell. Hollow."

Draco opened his mouth to protest, but he was cut off before he even started.

"Oh yeah, and then there's the Boy Who Lived. The one who brings you Salvation. Pray hard enough and the Boy Who Lived will save you all!"

Draco gulped. There might have been little differences in the wording, but the message was the same… the same as he was used to hear when he was little. Ideas and pictures he had never forgotten, a taste of true mystery in a world where mystery was banal. He had never known that there was a Harry Potter behind the Boy Who Lived. Nobody knew.

"Why do you think you have to kill someone?"

Harry looked at him and gave him a wry smile. Draco didn't recall Harry ever smiling at him, especially not like this… come to think of it, he didn't remember anyone ever smiling at him from this distance. Perhaps that was why it made him feel queasy. Or the empathy thing – that might have influenced it.

"You're a Legilimens. I failed the Occlumency class."

Draco hesitated. Nobody every invited anyone to see their thoughts just like that… Was it a provocation? A test?

"Come on. I don't care if you see the crap this head is filled with," Harry said, pointing at his temple.

"Sit down first. I don't want to hurt you­­… more." He wondered if that statement sounded as ridiculous to Harry, too. Probably even more so: _he_ hadn't had the odd day to get used to it. However, from the way _he_ acted, _he_ must have had an idea about the emotional by-product of the Healer-Bestowed interaction… so _he_ complied without putting up a fight.

"You're comfortable?" he asked, having helped the boy settle on the bed. _He_ glanced up with curiosity.

"You're joking?"

Draco didn't get the point. He wasn't even sure there was one, but Harry kept eyeing him expectantly and he realised he'd better get on with it.

"You-"

"Shut up and do it," Harry ordered, and there was the quality of the Dark Lord's orders in his voice. It was creepy… and compelling to obey.

"_Legilimens_," Draco cried. Harry's eyes rolled back in his head, but he helped Draco navigate through the jungle of his memories. They both caught glimpses of things that _he_ vaguely recognised, of things _he_ knew, and of a quantum of things _he_ didn't even want to know what they were. Then a scene in the hall of the Fort sped forwards, and when it focused Draco realised that he was mistaken to take it for the memory of yesterday's evening.

He was gently nudged and pulled out of Harry's head to look into his eyes. Harry was smiling again.

"Liked it?"

Draco wordlessly shook his head. Harry's smile disappeared and he wiped his face with a conjured paper napkin. He was so weak that his nose had started bleeding during the session. Draco automatically moved to Heal it, but Harry swatted his hands away, and sank back into the pillows, holding his head up to stop the bleeding naturally.

"See?" he spoke, clutching his nose, so it sounded weird. "I've got to kill another person. But I can't… I can't."

The blonde sighed and deliberately re-entered his line of sight.

"By inaction you will kill many more." The consequences of the ultimatum hadn't yet fully caught up with Draco, but he knew he had to make Harry change his mind. They had to sacrifice the Headmaster! What was one person's worth – even if it was one so special – compared to hundreds of students? There were little children in the castle… there were Draco's _companions_ and Harry's _friends_… the future of the Wizarding world…

"I _am_ taking action!" Harry protested indignantly.

"Killing yourself? Is that your solution to all problems? Harry…" The Gryffindor sat up. His body knew that it lacked blood already as it was, and couldn't afford to lose more of it by something as stupid as a nosebleed. Draco braced himself and let what he had decided to call 'the Healer' take over. _His_ first action was to clasp Harry's hand.

"I know you've got it harder than anyone else I know, but… please… don't give up. They – everyone at Hogwarts – need you."

Harry seemed to take the Draco-Healer shift in stride. He must have been the only boy in the entire world who would let his enemy for five and half a year sit on the side of his bed and hold his hand. Although the circumstances that lead to it were somewhat of an excuse.

"This is not my decision!" Harry argued. "We have government, we have the Ministry, we have authorities! Ask Dumbledore, or Scrimegour, or Umbridge for that matter! She would have me executed on the spot…"

"It is _your_ task to make these decisions! You are probably the only one with enough power – that is your power, Harry. Not some kind of emotional trash as Dumbledore wants you to believe. You are the idol of a cult. It is modern, and inconspicuous, fed by media and tradition that is only sixteen years old, but as powerful as tradition ever was. Children are raised and adults brainwashed to believe in you as their Saviour. In Muggle terminology – you are the new Jesus Christ-"

"No! Not me!" Harry cried desperately. Draco wished there was something he could do to make it all easier, but there wasn't anything. Harry had to be forced to see the truth… even if it reduced him to a lost, crying child.

"I'm just a… a fucked-up freak. They wouldn't want me to decide if they knew what I really am."

Draco, as one of those children raised to believe in the Saviour, and as one of the few people who had glimpsed the real Harry Potter, knew that that wasn't correct. They _would_ let him decide. They would let him rule the world if he wanted to.

"Perhaps…" he said aloud. There was no point in trying to explain it to Harry now. "But they _don't_ know. And they will follow you like lambs."

"No." It was a last, weak attempt to refuse. Harry had realised that he was in denial about something that should have been brought to his attention long ago. He was quivering, and Draco suddenly wished that Granger was there instead of him. But she wasn't.

"This is not the time to break, Harry. This is a crisis. You _must_ act."

D-S

"Severus, where is Harry?"

The bluntness of the Headmaster's question startled Severus, but he was an intelligent man, which by definition meant that he could adapt to situation quickly. His mind quickly weighed the options while his eyes darted around the room, noting details. A muddied travelling cloak hung over the armrest of Dumbledore's chair and the unusually thick stack of incoming letters were clear signs that the Headmaster had recently returned to the school after having been gone for a significant time.

The question meant that he already knew that Potter was missing, and presumed that Severus had something to do with it. He might have, or might have not, also known about Draco's escape from the school. However, he couldn't have found out about Granger's and Pomfrey's assistance yet, so better side-track him while there was still time. Tell the truth. Part of the truth, anyway.

"He's at the Dark Lord's base. Young Mr Malfoy took Potter there as a gift to ensure he would be welcome."

The Headmaster's expression darkened, and he tiredly measured ten drops of blue liquid into his tea. Severus recognised the potion – he had brewed it himself – but had other things to concentrate on. The first of which was to find a strategy that would ascertain his surviving Dumbledore's anger unharmed.

"And why did you not prevent it?"

"I wasn't informed. Draco didn't confide his intentions in me – I only found out later at the meeting. Unfortunately, it was already too late to bring Potter back to Hogwarts."

The old wizard sighed and looked at his phoenix. The bird began to sing a soft melody, but Dumbledore's expression darkened further.

"I understand, Severus. I'm only afraid that our greatest hope is forfeit. We have no means to rescue Harry from Tom's hands… I fear… I fear we have already lost him."

S-M

"Miss Granger!" called a permanently sour voice, and both Minerva and her favourite Prefect looked up trying to cover their dismay. Severus Snape was striding across the chamber to them, scowl in place, billowing robes and all.

"Yes, Professor," the girl replied dutifully, and Minerva felt a surge of pride at how well-behaved her best student was. Recently out of the hospital wing, and already discussing her Prefect duties, the three lesons she had missed, and even pummelling the dour Potions Master with good manners. Admirable.

"I wish to discuss your Advanced Potions bonus project – ah, I apologise, Minerva. I hope I'm not interrupting anything serious?"

"Oh no, Severus. Me and Miss Granger were already through all the important points," she said stiffly. The man knew she didn't like him much, so there was no point in pretending otherwise, and these circumstances didn't quite allow her to annoy him. She was merely slightly sorry that she couldn't think of a way to protect poor Hermione from his presence. The girl looked so… dazed, perhaps. Startled.

"Oh, have you come to a decision, sir?" she asked politely.

"Since some of the stages are rather volatile, you will gain access to my personal laboratory every other Sunday. I expect you punctually at eight o'clock in my office. Kindly inform your little friends," he spat, and gave the poor child one of his worse sneers. Minerva was already about to chastise him, but Miss Granger solemnly replied: "That is quite unexpected, sir, but I'm sincerely grateful."

Severus acknowledged her with a court nod, gave one similar to Minerva herself, and stalked away, glaring at some smaller Hufflepuffs. Hermione was looking at his back, with much less spite than the Transfiguration Professor would have expected.

"Merlin, these are the times when I am glad I don't have to take Potions," she joked. Miss Granger looked at her questioningly.

"Potions are a fascinating art, Professor. The precision and-"

"I don't want to dishearten you, dear, but I _have_ heard Severus's speech, and I'm afraid it is not my cup of tea. If you wish to pursue the Mastery, I will of course support you…"

The girl smiled.

"Thank you, Professor! Good night!" she exclaimed cheerfully and hopped away in the direction to the Gryffindor Tower. Minerva then remembered that _she_ probably should have been slightly more upset, since Harry Potter had been her friend… but being closed away in the hospital wing… was it possible that Miss Granger had not yet been informed?

M-N

"Granger! You have recently lost your best friend and right now you lay all your hopes on the Headmaster, so act like it!"

Hermione flinched and steadied herself on the wall. This man lived to give her near heart-attacks.

"Yes, sir," she said dutifully, when his words finally reached her brain. She scowled.

"Do you wish to say something?" he drawled.

She sneered, reinforced his Muffliato, and turned around to face him.

"That I'm going to visit said friend, and that I think said Headmaster is a bastard… and that I think you are right and I will do my best to act a distraught, but example-setting Prefect."

He merely quirked an eyebrow at her outburst, and she fought an embarrassed blush. Successfully.

"It would be wise if you refrained from repeating your opinions aloud, Miss Granger. Your first 'bonus lesson' will take place this Sunday. I will be anticipating with excitement the moment your field trip will be over."


	12. Bare Hands

A/N: Thank you for the nice reviews! Write more!  
Brynn

Chapter 12: Bare Hands

It was five days since they left Hogwarts. It seemed much longer though, as Draco spent most of the period in the library or in the room he shared with Harry, studying. It wasn't even remotely enjoyable, but he still felt lucky compared to his roommate. The Gryffindor was studying only half as much as him, because the rest of the time he was requested to entertain the Dark Lord.

He would come back distraught, eye the sharp, pointed candlesticks, and fling himself on his bed – the one they had slept in the first night – to bury his nose in one of Draco's books. Draco would quirk up, welcoming the distraction, and question Harry across the room from the second bed he claimed as his. From the few hints he gathered that _they_ were having political and academical debates, though he couldn't imagine what field was Harry so accomplished in, that the Dark Lord would consider him an adequate partner.

The afternoons spent together were strange, but Draco liked them. Harry had decided to keep his friendly attitude – he simply pretended that the past five years didn't happen and they knew each other for a week. In a way it was fitting. It was less than a week since Draco realised that the Harry Potter was not Boy Who Lived. And it was mere five days since Harry Potter met the person Draco Malfoy was forced to become by the mysterious inheritance of Healing powers.

However, much, much weirder than the afternoons were the mornings. Draco woke first, dressed, and went straight to the library. By the time he returned, the room was empty, his bed made, and his pyjamas neatly folded under his pillow. He thought the house elves were doing it, until he ran into Harry tyding up today. _He_ was either avoiding his duties for a while longer, or enjoyed such work… or was simply used to do it. Draco had tried to talk to him about it, but was flatly refused. And therefore his mind was now straying from the chapter in front of him to the boy who was being grilled in the Audience Hall.

"This is pointless," he grumbled and slammed the book shut. Sheets of his notes ruffled, and a roll of parchment fell off his blanket, moved by the draught.

"No, it's not."

He jumped, startled by the invasion.

"Myrtle," he gasped with relief. She floated over to him, 'seated' herself next him on the bed, and put her hand through the book.

"This is not much good," she admitted, and pulled her hand out, glaring at it with disgust.

"Are you able to read like that?" he asked, fascinated.

"Of course not, dummy. I don't see – that means I can't read. But I'm able to percieve."

He blinked. She rolled her eyes.

"Yes, I know what's written there. Most of it is true, but Scuttleframe _married_ a Healer, she wasn't one herself and she didn't see him come to his powers. Do you remember if there is _Fighting scythe with bare hands_ by Edgar Bones in the library?"

Draco nodded. He remebered it only because of a rather morbid illustration on the front cover. It had shocked him how much it resembled the scene of Harry's suicide attempt in Myrtle's bathroom. Still, it was a thin, tiny bond, and he didn't think that he could learn much from it.

"Read that one. And read it quickly."

"Myrtle?" He wasn't used to that level of care from her. She usually didn't mind people dying, so why would she help him with learning the Healing stuff was a mystery to him.

"Edgar was a Healer himself. He bloody well knew what he was writing about. And it's not the theory either. That might be nice to know, but won't help you much with the actual Healing-"

"Where do you know this stuff from?"

She glanced at him askance.

"I knew a Natural Healer once. Not a happy person, that one."

A light breeze ruffled his hair and he scowled at having his hairstyle ruined. She smirked and passed him a ribbon. Draco stared at her for a while incredulously. She couldn't mean that… But, obviously, she did. He sighed and tied his hair.

"Happy now?" he asked venomously. She smiled.

"You're handsome like this. Go to the library right now, Draco. Edgar was a brilliant young man, and I fear you're going to need his knowledge sooner than you might think."

"Why are you helping me with this?" he asked straight, even as he stood up and donned his outer robe. He knew better than to disregard Myrtle's advice. She gave it scarcely. When it came as far as her interferring, she must have had a damn good reason.

"Aside from that I like you?" she said solemnly. He raised an eyebrow. It was no news that she liked him – he even considered her a _friend_, but that wasn't serious enough for her to be interested in his study.

"Harry is glad that you are here," she admitted. "He hates being alone… I think that is why he got over the animosity between you two so quickly."

Draco halted on the threshold and looked back. Harry? Harry was so important to her… unless she was manipulating him, of course, but he had seen her care about Harry, and there was more between the two of them than between her and Draco. A piece of conversation flashed through his mind.

"_I've had me in my head since I remember."_

"_It's weird."_

"_It was. For you, too… like, the same guy, twice-"_

"_Wh- How do you know?"_

"_I've had me in my head since I remember."_

He paled.

"Myrtle… who is he really?" he breathed, afraid of what he might find out. She didn't understand his question, but ather than asking for an expansion, she flew straight through him.

"He's exactly who he says he is, Draco. Who he acts like. He doesn't pretend anything."

"Why did you call him 'Tom'?" His fingers subconsciously tightened around his wand.

"I don't know how much I can tell you…" she sighed. "Come on, I'll try to explain it along the way." Draco hesitated, but when she set out he followed her into the maze of winding passages. He would have enjoyed being able to walk through walls, but in his opinion it was never as bad as to the skill being worth dying for.

"So?" he insisted.

"Fifteen years ago, Tom – _Voldemort_ – attempted a Dark ritual with Harry as the sacrifice." Draco nodded. It fit with the public version – the Dark Lord attempting to kill Harry – only offered more detailed information. It also explained why would the Dark Lord do it at all.

"To be blunt: he fucked up. What really happened there is anybody's guess, but the outcome is that a bit of Tom, of his conscious – of his soul, perhaps – remained in Harry afterwards. He was able to suppress it for years, but now it's become more dominant than ever…"

"I still don't get it." How could somebody put a bit of themselves into somebody else? He had given Harry his magic, and that was all he was able to transmit, and giving magic didn't have side-effects like that…

"I'm not surprised you don't, Draco. This is not your league. Try to picture it like this…" she paused, searching for a fitting metaphor. "It's as though he had a split personality. Just the second part is not quite his own."

Draco gulped. Oh yeah. That _did_ make sense. And it put quite a lot of things into perspective…

Myrtle halted.

"I'll leave you here. Don't forget: Edgar Bones, _Figting scythe with bare hands_. Start as soon as you can… please."

To say Draco was confused would be a huge understatement.

D-N

"My Lord-"

Adrian cut himself off and halted respectfully a mere step beyond the threshold. He stared transfixed at the sight in front of him. In the dusk of the hall, there stood two identical thrones, the Dark Lord's on its usual spot, the other facing it. Both were occupied.

"My Lord," he repeated quietly, bowing deep. A snow-white hand, paler than the Dark Lord's own, stuck out as Voldemort's companion gestured to the new-comer. Adrian straightened, waiting for an order.

"-wards? Especially if you are awaiting them…" said a curious young voice as the Silencing Spell was cancelled.

"Approach," the Dark Lord commanded, and Adrian obeyed without second thought. The second throne disappeared and finally the sight of the person sitting in it was revealed. The landed in a half-squat, narrowly avoiding falling on the floor.

"For a seventy-year-old, that was incredibly childish, Tom. Do one more thing like this, and you can shake hands with Snape."

Adrian paled. No one, _no one_ ever dared to use such tone with the Dark Lord. _No one_ ever dared call _him_ by the filthy Muggle name… who was this person? How could they be so stupid? They would be extremely lucky to receive only a chastising Cruciatus… Besides, he knew Professor Snape, and anybody who described the man as 'childish' was in for hours of pain…

"You will show respect, or I'll make your life worse. It will be a difficult goal to achieve, but I _will_ find a way," the Dark Lord replied darkly, and Adrian shivered, even as he walked up to the – now only – throne. "Wormtail!"

"Oh please, I'll do it myself," muttered the second person. From this close they were visibly small, even though their voice was male… and vaguely familiar. "Just don't get that thing near me…"

Voldemort _smirked_. Adrian covered his shudder by promptly kneeling.

"Poor child. It seems that there is one _more_ thing we share. But by all means – provide us with light."

Adrian stared, amazed, as the small man, whose only visible part of body was ghostly-white hands, spread his fingers. There was a tiny blue flame on the tip of each of them. _He_ blew. The flames darted through the air, lighting the nearest candlesticks, torches and basins with oil. In the sudden glow, Adrian with awe noticed that while the stranger did wear proper Death Eater robes, their colour was light green. Unthinkable. Disgraceful.

"Impressive," the Dark Lord admitted. Adrian's jaw sank yet lower, both with seeing his Master acknowledge other wizard's skills and the realisation that said wizard just performed the advanced Elijah Charm wandlessly.

"If I let you kill Wormtail, will you take his place?"

"By your side, Tom? Never!" the green-robed man spat loathingly. "I leave you to tending to your lackey. I'm sure he's suffering from either shock or heart-attack by now. Look how rigid he is- ah."

With a flick of the Dark Lord's wand the insolence was disciplined. The stranger was bound and gagged, seated on the lowest stair in a position that must have been extremely uncomfortable. Still, the punishment was absolutely incommensurate to the insult.

"You're going nowhere. But you _will_ be silent. Speak, Adrian."

It took the young man a few seconds to compose himself enough to be able to obey that command. The Dark Lord wasn't known for his patience, though, and that sped up the process greatly.

"It is about the raid, my Lord," he started uncertainly, glancing at the huddled man at the bottom of the stairs. "We have received new intelligence – there might be some unexpected resistance…" he bit his lower lip. Voldemort's gaze darkened.

"It is too late to alter the plans."

"Yes, my Lord," Adrian bowed lower, hoping that this augurey wouldn't be smitten for the message it heralded.

"Proceed as scheduled."

"Yes, my Lord," the young man gulped and looked up.

"Go."

He didn't wait a second longer than necessary – he stood up, bowed again, and hurried out of the room. The green-robed wizard, somehow having been freed from his manacles, winked at him.

"You know Adrian?" Voldemort asked, uncaring that the Death Eater was stll within earshot.

"I played Quidditch against him. Besides, he's got one of those faces – hard to forget."

Adrian ascribed it to the shocking events, and the stress, but the next sound was almost like… _laugh_?

N-N

"I'm sorry, Tom," Harry whispered, standing up from the cold floor.

"What?"

"I said I'm sorry," he repeated. When he looked up, there was honest regret in his eyes. It genuinly startled the Dark Lord – people often said to him that they were sorry, but those were his followers who had failed in their tasks. Never someone who was truly apologetic. He didn't care for such emotions. But the fact that he didn't understand it irked him.

"What for?"

Harry shrugged.

"For being childish, I suppose… I'll be sure to shake Snape's hand the next time I'll meet him." Voldemort laughed. He had given up on trying to keep a straight face whilst around Harry in the privacy of a Silencing Spell. He was known to laugh, of course, but usually his cause to do so entailed some extreme violence. However, Harry's statements were often cruelly truthful, and he liked cruelty. The child never laughed with him – it meant what it was saying earnestly.

"Go back to your room," Voldemort ordered.

"No," Harry said easily and attempted to cast a Cushioning Charm on the stairs. He failed, sighed, and sat down even so. "I want to stay."

That caught Voldemort's attention. Harry rarely said he _wanted_ something.

"What for? You claim you don't enjoy suffering-"

"I don't!" The boy half-turned so he could look at the man. "But I can help. I want to help."

"As Draco has informed me, Healing was not added to Hogwarts curriculum yet-"

"It was not," Harry admitted, "but my childhood taught me to always know how best to nurse injuries. I am quite-"

"Useless."

Harry closed his eyes and suppressed the wave of tears. He knew he was useless. He wanted to save everyone the nuisance of dealing with himself, but he wasn't allowed to.

"How is it possible that one moment you cast a perfect high-level Dark Charm, and the next you can't manage simple Cushioning?"

"Inotoounlessgic," Harry mumbled. Voldemort growled and Harry's shoulders sagged – he wasn't happy about revealing this.

"I can't perform wandless magic, alright? But you can. When you concentrate, you're as pointed as a needle." The boy paused and hunched a bit further. "I cast through you. Mostly Dark Spells and such… 'cause you have to _approve_ of what I'm casting. Therefore the botched Cushioning."

Tom laughed.

"That _is_ ironic. The Saviour of the Light casts Dark Spells throuh the Dark Lord!"

Harry scowled at him.

"Yeah, but _you're_ useless for healing, so I need Draco to bring down my wand. I know you want to use him tonight. But there is a difference between use and _abuse_."

"I don't see any."

Harry shook his head.

"There is one. Be careful with your toys, Tom, lest they break."


	13. Jewel

A/N: Hello! Once again, the 'obligatory' thanks for reviews… they keep me content, just so you know. I don't get too many, so I treasure them all the more.  
Brynn

Chapter 13: Jewel

Voldemort watched the boy in front of him closely. After he had – repeatedly – failed to change _his_ robes to proper black, he decided that it was better to keep _him_ easily distinguishable from his followers. However, nothing could stop him from adjusting the robes' size. At his age, Harry Potter should have been more a man than a child, yet he seemed too small and too thin to accommodate an entire soul – not to speak about more.

"I want to see what you both are capable of; I will have Draco bring down your wand…" He smirked. "It was a nice attempt to side-track me, Harry, and I admit: it almost worked. My Death Eaters won't be back for another two hours, though, and I sense our most inspiring conversation yet."

The boy sighed yet didn't speak. Voldemort scowled.

"Think of who you are – and _where_ you are." Harry was suddenly jerked through the air, slammed into the floor, and his arms and legs were spread like Vitruvio's man's. "I may have lost _some_ memories when you destroyed that part of my soul, fifteen years ago… but how much did you really _destroy_, Harry Potter? How well did your Mudblood mother protect you?"

Harry gulped. He hated the word, hated the bigotry it symbolised for him, but if he had said that aloud now, he would have been subjected to a Cruciatus. It wouldn't have been the first time during these 'conversations', but he had to keep himself able to do magic. Able to heal. So he remained silent.

"Not well enough," Voldemort concluded with insane glee. "So I _did_ succeed. I _am_ the first ever to create a human Horcrux!" He laughed; it made Harry's bones vibrate.

"Do you know what a Horcrux is – ah, you obviously do," the Dark Lord cut himself off, remembering what it was that brought them to this topic in the first place. Harry nodded, since there was little more he could do.

"Inspiring indeed…"

N-N

Twenty minutes of intense contemplation later, Voldemort released the boy from the spell and gestured him to come closer. Harry did so slowly, shakily. The blood returned to his feet and hands and made them hurt. But he could speak again.

"Do you appreciate the beauty of the paradox, Harry? You – the supposed Saviour of the Light – are a mere artefact. A container."

"A shell," Harry admitted, smirking for a reason unknown to Voldemort. He was about to sit back on the stair, but the Dark Lord repeated his previous gesture.

"And yet, for fifteen long years you were revered without suspicion."

Harry didn't think he ever was revered, but Tom knew that, so there would have been no purpose in pointing it out.

"I did something nobody quite expected," he said instead.

"What?" There was still a sciencist within Voldemort, and that suppressed entity was what Harry glimpsed now. Horcruxes as such were an obscure art, few knew even that it existed. A creation of a human Horcrux was never before attempted, not to speak about accomplished. Harry's existence in itself was a mystique.

"I absorbed you. The part of you that was in me, I mean." The boy stopped a step short of the throne, fighting to not flinch when Tom's long, deformed fingers forced him to look up. There was the being that shaped his life into what it was now – whose would-be destruction was the reason for the creation of the 'Boy Who Lived myth', who took away Harry's family, Harry's friends, Harry's childhood, and ultimately Harry's identity.

"I was nowhere near as Light and Saviour-y as they wanted me, and…"

Voldemort couldn't avoid touching him. Those fingers ran across cool white skin, threaded through charcoal hair, smoothed over the child-sized green robe. A real Horcrux. An artefact that walked, talked and _thought_ itself… a _thing_ that _felt_… Tom was so proud of himself.

"Dumbledore figured it out somehow," Harry continued, more or less calm. "I don't know how, but it couldn't have been nice, because he Obliviated me afterwards. I get glimpses of it in nightmares… sometimes."

"Dumbledore usually doesn't do such shoddy work," Voldemort remarked dryly. His tone screamed his loathing for the Headmaster, but Harry didn't pay him any attention, focused on the scraps of his memories, masochistically fascinated. Spindly-legged tables with silvery glinting tools. Almost like creatures – almost as if they were alive.

"It wasn't shoddy." Harry glanced up and smiled at the thrill that was shining through Tom's eyes. "I just _didn't want_ to be Obliviated, and when I get angry there are these… Mione called them 'surges of raw power'. It must have interferred with the spell."

"What-"

"Did he do to me? He tried to get you out. Managed to partly separate you in my head, I guess. Maybe not quite precisely. The long and short of it is that… I'm schizophrenic. There's a Boy Who Lived… and Tom Riddle."

By now the hands on his body felt too uncomfortable, and he took a step back to get out of their reach. Voldemort scowled, and the sciencist was gone as suddenly as he had appeared. Harry tentatively continued: "He thought you had me completely infested. He believed he was destroying a Horcrux. That there was no way of purifying my soul."

The Dark Lord laughed, even while he was still glaring at the boy.

"Way of 'purifying your soul'?" he barked out and laughed on. The echo resounded in the hall and the recently installed windowpanes trembled. Harry shivered. He wished he was somewhere else, but at the same time he realised that anywhere else would probably be worse.

Then the front gate slammed open and the corridor carried the sounds of hurried footsteps to them. Tom stopped laughing, stood up, and cupped Harry's face to spite him, perfectly aware how nauseating his touch was to the boy.

"We will continue this conversation, child. I want to know how much of me there is in you, but this is not the right time."

Harry freed himself from the grip again, and nodded in acquiesce. Voldemort smirked.

"You have a week to decide and present me with your plan, Harry. Don't disappoint me. Giving me Dumbledore shouldn't be as hard for you as I thought – after all, he _did_ treat you the same as I did," he stepped forth, by-passing Harry, and faced the crowd, lead in by a lone person clad in pure black. The following Death Eaters were dirty with blood and other body fluids, scorch marks, curse residues, and mud.

"Aretha!" the Dark Lord barked, and the leader cut a hasty curtsey in the mid-step. "Lead Draco here within five minutes. And make sure he brings both wands."

Harry blinked as the Death Eateress curtsied again and scurried outside, and then realised that his identity so far remained unknown to most of Voldemort's crowd. The middle of battle aftermath chaos was not a wise moment to announce him. He glanced at Tom sideways.

Tom was counting.

N-D

"Mr Malfoy!"

Somebody pounded on the door so forcefully, that it shook in its hinges. Draco groaned, skimmed the last five lines of the introduction, shut the book and went to open.

"Mr Malfoy! It is an emergency!"

He halted. He had heard of emergencies… they were bad. Bad for everyone within the casting range of the Dark Lord. But Harry had not come back and he had been worried, and he had to go, because otherwise Voldemort would torture him into a sack of blood for treachery. His position was already unstable – ignoring a direct order would be a suicide.

He spun, the hand that had been already reaching out for the handle grabbed his (only) Death Eater robes from the back of the chair, and he cast a lightning-fast Cleaning Spell on himself. Then he opened the door to find himself face to face with a near-hysterical black young woman, who was already going to pound on the door again.

"Lead," he ordered simply. She took several deep breaths to calm down, nodded, and set out in the fastest walk that was not run yet. He followed, putting the robes on and fastening them along the way. The corridors were near empty, and he didn't come close to walking into anybody.

The woman was continuously dabbing at her eyes, and he wondered what was so bad that she would cry now. He could think of many things, and it only disconcerted him more, and by the time they were crossing the threshold of the Audience Hall, he was scared.

What he saw upon entering struck him. Hard. He faltered, took a step backwards and shook his head. There were _tens_ of hurt people in the room, some cut or scorched lightly, others with internal bleedings and broken bones… The amount of pain felt as a hammer falling onto his chest, again and again.

"Draco…" he heard someone yell, and a small white and black and green creature ran to meet him. His eyes were unfocused, but the fuzz he suddenly had instead of brain provided a name: "Harry?"

"Oh gods… I told him not to do this. Draco, hold on. Concentrate… on me, if you must. Not the best focus point, but there's no better, I'm afraid- Myrtle!"

"She's gone," Draco whispered, remembering the ghost leaving him near the library. He tried to press everything out of his head, but the alien mass only twisted, and filled the corners that had still been his so far.

"Bloody Hell, Draco, did you read Edgar Bones's-"

"Started…" he breathed.

"How far did you get?" Harry urged, now that Draco paid him more attention sounding as scared, as _he_ felt.

"Page 21-"

"Fuck," Harry stated dryly. Draco felt a cold haln on his face. "Focus on me."

He was confused and had no idea what he was doing, but he had just seen that he couldn't help himself, so his best bet was to follow instructions. He did, and a pair of emerald eyes came into his view.

"Harry…"

"Good. Now, whatever you do, and whatever you feel, keep thinking of me. Alright?" This was too weird, but Draco didn't feel up to questioning it right now. He would argue with the boy later. Lonely or not, after five years of active animosity, it was hard to swallow 'keep thinking of me'-

He hadn't registered it, but Harry must have lead him somewhere, because all of sudden he was enclosed in between four sources of pain – two powerful, one not so much, and one weak. His mind blurred – he had given up on his vision long ago – and he wobbled-

A cold hand caught his wrist.

"Draco. Concentrate. This is your compatriot. He needs your help. Help him."

"Har- arhg!" Draco's hand was forcibly lead to touch one of the powerful sources, and something within him bucked. A dam broke. He felt the source be obliterated and with horror sensed the power surging from him through his palms… because he couldn't control it now. His second Bestowed. He didn't even know their name.

The source wavered and went out. It felt like he had killed whoever the person was, but Harry was repeating something that was supposed to be encouraging, or merely to keep Draco listening to his voice. Then there was the second hurting Death Eater… he turned his head up, looking for guidance, and Harry was there. The weaker sources meanwhile disappeared. His feet moved instinctively, but the cold hands were pulling him elsewhere.

"Listen, Draco. You'll have to take my word on it, but in later chapters Edgar writes something extremely important. Are you listening?"

"Yeah…"

"Draco, you _can_ Heal anything. But it is not always wise to do so."

He could Heal anything. Anything at all. He felt it. He wanted it. He had to-

"Ignore the light injuries! Are you listening, Draco! They'll be healed by other people. Find the serious wounds!"

Serious. Powerful sources. They stood up as red blazing spheres in front of his eyes.

"There," he said, pointing at the nearest one. Harry lead him. _Harry_ lead him. Through a shallow pond of emotions, reaching up to his knees sometimes, and he had to struggle against the resistance to walk – as though it was water, just thicker. And cold hands were there at all times, keeping his balance for him, and not allowing the stream to knock him off his feet.

"I can…" he mumbled. His third Bestowed screamed even while he was puttig their bones back together.

D-S

Severus hated raids with passion, but his hatred for raids couldn't even compare to his hatred for their immediate consequences. He knew about this one beforehand, and even though he had _not_ alerted the Headmaster, there was little chance on winning for the Dark Lord. Of course, speaking such thoughts aloud was treachery, and the Dark Lord was not interested in what a random Death Eater had to say to the master plans.

"As expected – this has turned from sneak attack into butchery," said a female voice from his left. The woman pulled off her hood, staring intently at something that was going on in the centre of the hall. Severus has arrived recently, so he didn't know what 'interesting' injuries to look at there were.

He scowled. She more or less voiced his thoughts, but the disgustingly happy tone she had used made him wish one of the worse wounds on her.

"Alecto…" he growled. "Have you nothing more useful to do than to stand here and watch?"

She looked at him coldly.

"That's rich, coming from you, _Snivellus_." Severus wished he could rip out her throat. But the Dark Lord would not take kindly to that, so he restrained himself. Her sneer, however, faded quickly.

"That's my brother out there. He was dying when the Carrows dragged him in. I want to see what happens."

"I'm sorry," Severus forced himself to say. She shook her head.

"Oh, he's going to be fine, thanks to the Dark Lord's new plaything."

He perked up. Plaything? Surely not… His eyes followed the line of Alecto's stare. In the centre of the room, surrounded by the wounded, two figures moved. One was a Death Eater, slouching, wobbly, as though drunk, yet Severus knew very well that no Death Eater ever dared treat into the Dark Lord's base drunk. So exhausted, or Confounded. The other figure was smaller and faster… and green. They flitted around the unbalanced Death Eater, helped him walk from injury to injury, and managed to heal the less serious things on the way. Severus watched with respect as they stabled their companion with their rght hand, and with their left (persumably _not_ preferred) weaved spells to regrow tissues.

And then he realised _who_ he was watching.

"Impossible…" he breathed. Alecto sniggered.

"I thought the same at first. You have to watch them for a while to understand how impossible it really is. And you only see the finishing touches – they are going on like this for quite some time."

"Be silent, woman," he growled, enraged. Draco was not a _tool_! He was not a _thing_! "You have no idea what you are speaking of!"

"While you always know everything best, _Snivellus_. You _were not_ here to watch them. Do you realise that of those who were brought here _nobody_ died? I know that the Dark Lord controls them, but it makes you wonder… aren't those two more powerful?"

Severus gulped and forbade his mind to follow that line of thought. Alecto didn't seem to realise who Draco and Potter really were. But if she did… would she adopt the ridiculous belief that Dumbledore was planting into wizards' and witches' brains?

"It is a miracle…" she whispered, not realising that he was still listening to her. Severus rubbed his temples. She didn't even know what it was she believed in, and yet she believed… it almost made him wonder if there wasn't a sprinkle of truth in those myths. Potter seemed to attract attention, both positive and negative, wherever he moved. Was it the reason for the myth, or was the myth reason for the attention? A cycle without end, though it had to start somewhere. Could it be possible that Potter _did_ have the power to 'save' them?

A/N: Just one more thing: I suspect that my lack of readers might be caused by my sad inability to compose an attractive summary. If anyone feels like helping me out, I will be grateful.  
Brynn


	14. Priority

A/N: Thank you for your continued support! I need the feedback.  
Brynn

Chapter 14: Priority

"Potter, where did you learn this?"

The boy halted in the middle of the corridor, and carefully shifted the weight of himself and the person leaning on him evenly on his both legs.

"Harry?" asked a quiet, pained and weary voice. Potter whispered something back, and it must have soothed the other person. They were completely covered, but Severus was almost certain that this was Draco. The seed of doubt was there, though – he had an inventive mind, but he couldn't picture Potter ever behaving like this towards his years-long 'enemy'.

"I have been learning medical stuff ever since I learned magic existed," the boy replied. A tremor shook him. White glow shone from the wide sleeves of Draco's robe, but Potter grasped his wrists and said something under his breath. The glow faded, and Draco slumped a bit further. Severus walked over to help Potter keep the boy upright, but they both shied away from him. He scowled.

"That is not what I asked and you know it."

Potter's eyes glinted with fury. Even undersized, tired, and weighed down, the boy looked dangerous. There was a darkness in him just waiting to be unleashed. Darkness that wasn't supposed to be there – this _was_ the Boy Who Lived!

"Oh, you mean when did I get as good as an average medi-assistant?" So good? Severus had seen a certain proficiency in the Gryffindor's healing, but for a sixth-grader to be _so_ accomplished was absurd. Potter was lying. "That would be… fifth year, sir."

"…go, please…" Draco whispered, and the darkness from Potter's eyes vanished, as though it never was there.

"Sorry, I'm afraid you haven't picked the best time for a chat, sir," he said tiredly, turned around, and with a few whispered instructions got Draco to co-operate. Severus was staring at their backs, and eventually decided that it would be in everybody's best intention if he accompanied them. There was a staircase on their way, after all.

"I see that. Spite aside, would you care to answer?"

Potter hesitated slightly, surprised that Severus wasn't going to leave them alone, yet. Then he simply walked on, replying to the empty corridor in front of himself.

"I did answer your question, Professor, but to keep this conversation short, Slytherins weren't the only people who didn't like the _Golden Boy_. Add a lot of spiteful students from all other houses, creatures, more vicious plants, parts of Hogwarts castle, yourself and… I couldn't quite afford to run to Poppy three times a day, could I? _And_ I've been forbidden to go to the hospital wing directly after sessions with Dumbledore."

While Severus indulged the child by letting it finish its rant of self-pity, they arrived at the stairs. Potter looked up, sighed, and mumbled something into Draco's ear.

"_Wingardium Trux_."

Before Severus realised what was going on Potter and Draco were gone; there was a scream in the distance and a flash of light. Panicked, he ran up the stairs. Potter was standing, supporting himself on the railing, and pulling Draco to his feet.

"What did the Headmaster do to you?"

He asked, pulling the unconscious Slytherin out of Potter's arms and craddling him to his chest. It was less than twenty doors from there – surely Potter could live without pawing Draco for so long.

"One, it's irrelevant," the Gryffindor replied spitefully. "Two, it's none of your business." He wobbled behind Severus, leaning against a wall. Severus could care less – not even Draco had such sense for drama as this brat.

"Three, I don't remember anyway. I'd wake up in the middle of the night and find that some things aren't where they are supposed to be. One learns to take care of oneself or dies," Potter finished, acting as though he didn't much care. "Hold on."

Severus would have ignored the child, but both his hands were full, so he couldn't quite open the door for himself. Potter did it, letting him inside.

"That bed," he pointed, and went forth to collect Draco's textbooks to make space. Severus laid the boy down carefully, and proceeded to take off his outer robes. He was startled to realise that the boy in front of him, pale and sweaty, with strained expression, and with his hair tied back, was the same Draco Malfoy as the one he had seen five days ago. He was reminded of that event… he recalled Draco looking _adult_. But not nearly as old as he was looking now.

"Go away," Potter _ordered_ him. Severus disregarded the Gryffindor. He had yet to find what caused Draco's unconsciousness, whether only exhaustion, or something more serious, and prepare the potions-

"You don't want me to repeat it," Potter stated in an uncharacteristically soft, almost sing-song voice. Severus reflexively turned around and found the darkness aimed at him again. He brought out his wand – he had no time to deal with the brat-

And then the door flew open and Potter didn't even bother to move, watching as Severus fly out of it, stopped by the opposite wall.

"Myrtle!" the boy called, not bothering to close the room. Severus scrambled to his feet and with built-up, crackling rage strode back, trying to persuade himself that murdering the Golden Boy wasn't a wise course of action. He slammed nose-first into an invisible barrier.

"Potter!" he barked and… was ignored.

"Oh no… Why did I take so long?" the infuriating ghost, wailing, appeared in the room. Severus started casting every reducing spell he could think off.

"I'm sorry, Myrtle," Potter said quitely. The Potions Master disagreed – Potter was_ going to be_ sorry. "I couldn't convince Tom. You know how he is."

"I know. Insane… Cold… Uncaring."

"Yes…" Potter sighed. "I couldn't prevent it, but-"

"You're following Anette's example?" the ghost yelled, shocked and outraged. Severus gave up his wild goose chase in favour of following the proceedings within the room.

"He won't be happy. And neither will Tom."

Potter looked up with a sad smile.

"I'd like this more than having to kill Dumbledore. Bye, Myrtle. Hopefully, this is the last time."

Severus took a reflexive step back when Potter picked up a candlestick, took a deep breath, and lit a candle. All other lights in the place went out.

S-N

"Don't watch it. I don't want anybody to watch…" Harry whispered. Myrtle shook her head in denial.

"You promised you would-"

"Draco will do it." Draco was better with Dark Arts anyway. And Myrtle wouldn't feel like she was twice murdered by the same person – although whether it would be better or worse, he had no idea. "Tell him I'd like him to… hopefully he won't be too mad at me."

Hopefully. He knew for certain that Tom was going to be extremely mad. Maybe he would kill Wormtail and Bellatrix in a bout of anger… Harry hoped no one of his friends would be hurt. Too much.

"Go, Myrtle-"

"I love you-"

"I know. Now go."

She obeyed him, closing the door into Severus Snape's screwed-up face.

"I'm sorry, Draco. You should learn to read faster." He climbed on the bed, lay down, and threaded their fingers. "Take it all."

N-S

"My Lord!" Severus hastily bowed, and spat out his news. "Draco Malfoy is unconscious and Potter denied me access to their room-"

"Walden! Bring Anabelle, Joseph and Carl to me. Now."

"But, Lord, they are treating the wounded-"

"_Crucio_!" the wizard replied. "Raphael!"

"Yes, my Lord." The response was muffled by McNair's screaming. Crabbe bowed and disappeared in the crowd, searching for the three named Death Eaters without another word. The impossibility of the task set was a clear statement of the Dark Lord's fury.

"Out of the way," was the only thing Severus's master said to him.

S-N

"Idiot!" Tom growled as he entered the bedroom. Dispelling the wards took him about five minutes, and the three medi-wizards he ordered to come arrived just seconds earlier. He would have Crucioed Raphael, but there was no time.

"There is a thin line between idiocy and genius, Tom," replied a tight female voice from the ceiling. The next second there was light and Myrtle descended, trying to block the other people from entering, as Harry had wished it. She hadn't been able to stay out, even though she was ashamed for going against his wishes.

"He knew what he was doing?" Tom questioned, prying the black-haired child off Draco. The Healer was calm, breathing steadily and strongly. His level of magic was low, but not dangerously so. Harry, on the other hand…

"He knew far better than you did," Myrtle accused him, while the boy in his arms breathed out. "He actually makes the effort to learn about things he's dealing with. You almost killed Draco tonight. You have to pay a price for the recklessness."

…was clinically dead. He was yet smaller than before, shrivelled, and the sickly pallor of his skin turned into dull grey.

"The brat tried to _warn_ me," he said with disbelief, having handed Harry over to the medi-wizards, who immediately started reviving him with a combination of wizarding and Muggle methods, hoping their Lord either wouldn't notice, or would care for the outcome too much to torture them because of the means used.

"I believe he cares for Draco," the ghost suggested. "And we all know how much he cares about himself."

"How much?" he asked. It wasn't a topic they had come upon during their conversations. Myrtle quirked a surprised eyebrow, but then she remembered who she was talking to.

"Not a bit."

Tom turned to watch the process of trying to keep Harry alive. It looked frantic, panicked. He glanced at the door to find Severus Snape gaping like a fish. It was so… pathetic.

N-D

Draco groaned and opened his mouth, only to realise that he couldn't speak.

"Lay still, Mr Malfoy," said a strict male voice. Draco did as he was told, not feeling strong enough to move, anyway. A young-looking blonde wizard stepped into his sight, and put a vial to his lips. He dutifully swallowed. It was bitter, but not nearly as disgusting as Snape's potions, and it lifted the fog that had clouded everything.

"Do you feel better?"

He had no idea how he was supposed to answer, but the wizard seemed to understand anyway.

"Good. Rest, Mr Malfoy. Your body, mind and magic had been drained to the critical point. You must replenish your powers." Then he was gone, and Draco heard his voice from distance, informing someone that he was awake, and would be on feet in a few days time. Perfect. Now he had to lay back and remember what the Hell had happened.

D-D

"I want to see Harry," Draco said weakly, extending his hand. The woman who was watching over him complied and helped him sit up, opening the curtains with her other hand. It shocked him to see that there was one other person in the room, for he had not heard their voice. He waited for a moment for his head to stop spinning, and his vision to clear…

"My Lord?" he breathed.

"Draco," the wizard replied calmly, never looking away from Harry's bed.

"What…" he started, but the medi-witch sitting next to him gestured him to be silent. The Dark Lord was concentrating.

"_Ennervate_," he said. Draco shifted, leaning into the woman, so that he could see at least Harry's face. For a while nothing happened, and then Harry's eyelashes fluttered and _he_, slowly, opened _his_ eyes.

"Myrtle?" he asked. The ghost didn't respond, which meant she was not within earshot. Draco would like to speak to her, too, but he didn't feel strong enough yet.

"I sent her away. She will be back," the Dark Lord offered. Harry's eyes moved towards Draco.

"Good," he said, and Draco understood that he didn't mean Myrtle, but himself. He didn't remember anything past the staircase, but in that instance Harry had been moderately alright, whereas Draco had been the one severely exhausted. Now it looked like their positions switched.

"I was af-" Harry paused, and his eyes widened… and their striking emerald was infected by red that as though bled from his pupils. "Fuck."

Draco's untrained vision altered, and instead of the Gryffindor he saw large red blazing sphere. He instinctively moved forward- but a pair of female arms restrained him. It took a while for him to calm down, and he faintly heard Harry's voice saying something, trying to convince him… to not Heal. When he came to himself again, Harry was staring up at the Dark Lord with a calm resignation.

"I know," he said faintly. "We're not risking a Natural Healer for an artefact, no matter how valuable it is."

The Dark Lord inclined his head. Draco would have liked to see his expression, but at the same time feared something he couldn't quite name. The air around the two wizards – Voldemort and Harry Potter – was filled with something fundamental, huge, and untraceable.

"Precisely. He is invaluable."

Harry smiled and agreed: "And I am replacable."

The Dark Lord straightened and the veins on the back of his head became more pronounced.

"You are an important thing," he said with something akin to sorrow. "But just a thing."

Draco wanted to scream his outrage, but someone had placed a Silencing Spell on him. Harry closed his eyes, though his smile remained.

"Then we are in agreement. Do anything you can to save me, but don't let the Healer near me. At least until he is healthy."

"That would be too late."

The Dark Lord stood up and brushed the fringe out of Harry's forehead. He traced the lightning bolt there with one finger, and the gesture looked almost gentle in a morbid way.

"I want to keep you. I will find a way."

Harry opened his eyes, and eyed the Dark Lord thoughtfully. The red was winning.

"A human sacrifice?" he suggested coldly. Draco gulped. Myrtle had said that Harry was schizophrenic. That he had a piece of the Dark Lord's conscious in his head. Was this Voldemort talking to Voldemort?

"That could be done," the Dark Lord agreed, but 'Harry' bit his lip, lost in contemplation. A short while later he looked up again.

"No, it could not. The purification period."

Where did Harry acquire such knowledge? Overally, there were too many things that Harry shouldn't know, shouldn't be able to do, but he did them. Was that all the 'Tom' within him? Or was the _real_ Harry Potter Dark?

"Correct," the Dark Lord admitted, and rubbed his temples. "I will have to-"

"That is – politically – unwise," Harry agrued, easily second-guessing the evil mastermind. If Draco ever doubted Myrtle's words, he would have to believe them now. There was a bit of Voldemort in his new friend… and by the looks of it, it wasn't small.

Draco watched transfixed. Harry was – mysteriously – offering _advice_ to the Dark Lord. And the Dark Lord was – mysteriously – _listening_. He wondered what had happened. What the two were _truly_ doing during their 'conversations'. Still, Myrtle said that Harry didn't pretend anything to him. He didn't know what to think. Once again, he had to believe.

"Nobody will know," Voldemort brushed off the objection. "Nobody will expect the consequences."

"It is your decision," the boy concluded. "But you will be restoring Harry Potter, anyway, you realise that, don't you?" he asked, gazing at the man with expectation. Draco damned the caster of the Spell on him to Tartaros. The Dark Lord inclined his head.

"He is unwanted, but not entirely a nuisance."

Harry smirked at the admission.

"He is still a dogma."

The Dark Lord smirked back. Draco gaped.

"That he is. But he's the most memorable thing I have ever created."

"Debatable," claimed the boy, and chuckled. "I think that _I_ am the most memorable thing you've ever created. Then again, did _you_ create _me_? Did not _I_ create _you_?"

The two wizards _chuckled_ together.

"Sleep. With some of Harry's damnable luck, I will be able to fix you."

Harry fell slack on the bed. The Dark Lord swept around and stared at Draco. The boy attempted to bow, but the medi-witch restrained him again, and Voldemort waved it off as not demanded at the moment.

"Heal quickly, Draco. You did well, and you will be rewarded."

As the Dark Lord walked out and the door closed behind him, Draco realised that the woman sitting on the side of his bed was shivering with fear. She was gazing blankly at the opposite bed – at Harry – and sweating.

"What the…" Draco started, bemused. She turned her head to look at him, but her expression didn't change a bit.

"Mr Malfoy, we are not sure what transpired. Our best guess is that Mr Potter fed his magic to you to keep you alive, and exhausted himself in the process. The fact that he didn't die is what puzzles us… This procedure was first used by the wife of Edgar Bones, Anette. Hers _and_ _every_ recorded attempt since then ended with the donor dying…"

Draco resignedly lay back and wished he would fall asleep quickly… and preferably forget everything that happened since last Sunday.


	15. Sunday

A/N: A short chapter, I know. I'll make it up to you, I promise.  
I wanted to express my utmost gratitude to all my reviewers. Do be patient, though :-)), the romance will be there. It is actually already brewing, and my hints are nowhere as subtle as JK's. As to a happy ending – I will leave for you to decide whether it is happy. I mentioned somewhere that I do not do stereotypical.  
Enjoy!  
Brynn

Chapter 15: Sunday

Draco was reading, partly because there was little more he could do, but more importantly because he wished that the day before yesterday would never repeat. The horror he had lived through was one thing… fortunately the intensity of the perception had blanked him so that he now didn't remember much. What he – to his own amazement – took harder, was that to save him, Harry sacrificed his own life.

Of course, for Harry 'his own life' wasn't of value, but it was far more than Draco expected anyone to do for him. And he also realised, as he was watching the Gryffindor in coma afterwards, he would miss _him_ if _he_ died. It's been more than twenty-four hours since Harry's alter-personality had the talk with the Dark Lord, and Harry had not moved since. It drove Draco mad, but there was nothing he could do.

He had just started a new chapter, when somebody knocked on the door. He ignored them: Voldemort didn't knock, and he wasn't feeling like meeting anyone else. However, the Dark Lord had apparently adjusted the wards to admit whoever it was who was coming now. The door was pushed open from outside.

Draco groaned, stuck his hand into the book to mark the page, and turned to face the comer, hopeful to make it short. His jaw dropped.

"Pansy!"

"Definitely not!" the female exclaimed with a mix of horror and insult. "But Professor Snape hates me enough to force this on me. So keep your hands to yourself, Malfoy."

She was looking at a spot three feet above his head, so she apparently didn't see.

"Who are you and what are you doing here?" he asked cautiously, reaching over for his wand. He wasn't supposed to be doing magic yet, but there was little choice. "And how did you get inside?" he added. She shrugged.

"I pushed the handle."

"That is enough, Miss Granger," said a familiar voice and Draco was _relieved_ to see Snape step into the room. He looked back at Pansy – Granger. _It_ was wrong. He didn't like either of the women, and to see them both united into this one being was an extremely disturbing experience.

"What are you doing here?" he managed to say in a rather even voice.

"I came to check on Harry. Speaking of which, where is he?"

"He didn't tell you anything?" Draco scowled at Snape, who pretended he didn't notice, and carelessly aimed his wand at the girl.

"_Finite Incantatem_."

Granger's eyes focused, and she looked down at him.

"Merlin, Malfoy, what happened to you?"

Draco sighed, pulled his hand out of the book, marked the page with a stripe of parchment instead, and laid it away. Then he sat up and tightened his blanket around himself.

"Do I look that bad?" he grumbled. Granger bluntly nodded, but at least she wasn't making fun of him, and it made him feel a bit better. He was glad that she wasn't Pansy. Pansy… would probably mock him so long that he would begin to regret ever waking up.

"That's what he was supposed to tell you."

Granger sighed and took a few steps towards him.

"Look, Malfoy, just spit it out. You know very well that I will not hurt you. If not else, then the circumstances don't allow me to. Just don't play with my nerves-"

"I didn't want any of that to happen! Half of the time I don't even know what I'm doing-"

Draco cut himself off, realising that he was panicking. But how was he supposed to tell what happened to Harry's friend – moreover one who risked everything to save _his_ life?

"I don't blame you," she said carefully, trying to calm him. Draco hid his face in his hands.

"The Dark Lord pushed me too hard… I… It drained me…"

"For pity's sake!" Snape exclaimed. "The idiot tried to heal Draco and landed himself in coma-"

Draco rapidly stood up and aimed his wand into Snape's face over Granger's shoulder. His face was a mask of cold fury. No one, no one dared…

"One word," the blonde hissed, "and I swear I'll risk my magic to see you blasted out the door."

Granger put her hand on his own, and gently pushed it down. She was frowning, but her anger for a change wasn't aimed at him.

"Don't, Malfoy. I'll do it myself."

There was a hint of well-masked surprise in her voice, and that _was_ aimed at him. It had apparently shocked her to witness Draco Malfoy defending Harry Potter… not to speak about defending him so forcefully, when he couldn't walk with confidence. He nodded to her, and she nodded back.

"Is that true?"

He shook his head, and quickly sat down, because the action caused him to lose balance.

"He _sacrificed_ himself for me… I'm sorry-"

He looked up pleadingly. Granger didn't respond, but she still wasn't blaming him. She was resigned.

"That's Harry…" she said when she noticed how puzzled he was. "He just does things like that. Oh, and he has no sense of self-preservation. He's not… motivated," she said ruefully. It seemed as though she was blaming _herself_.

Draco pointed behind her. Granger turned around, and for the first time looked at the opposite part of the room… at Harry. She automatically walked over and he watched her wistfully. He wanted to go there. He had tried, for hours. Nothing worked. The wards around the bed were spelled specifically against him, and they were built by the Dark Lord personally.

Granger looked back at him with a mixture of hurt and anger.

"I thought that Natural Healers could Heal _anything_."

They stared at each other for a while, and the simmering frustration Draco had been fighting exploded.

"They can," he spat. "And, since you know everything, Granger, you would also know that Natural Healers cannot very well control their urge to Heal _everything_." He wiped his tears of frustration with the back of his hand. He hated himself for breaking in front of Granger, but at the same time a distanced part of his mind noted that better it happened in front of Granger than in front of Pansy.

"Now, lets assume that a Healer would die, or at least lose his magic if he Healed another patient. And then they stick him, with his uncontrollable _urges_ into one room with a dying person. Since you _know everything_, what would happen?"

"That's enough, Draco," said Snape.

The boy raised his wand again, menacingly.

"You shut up and get out. I don't want you anywhere near Harry. I admit that I'm not in the shape to kick you out, but Myrtle and Granger would surely give me a hand."

Snape looked startled.

"Draco-"

"I said something," he spat and took a step closer to the man. A sudden wave a cold went through him, and he shivered. There was a silvery half-transparent figure floating in front of him.

"Do as Draco tells you, Snape. I can get to Tom in ten seconds, and trust me, you won't like it."

The three children in the room glared at the Potions Master in silence, and eventually he, faced with the threat of the Dark Lord's intervention, obeyed. The ghost slammed the door behind him.

"Thanks, Myrtle."

"You're welcome, Draco," she said earnestly, but parted from him and flew over to join Granger at Harry's bed. The two girls watched the, once again dead-looking, Gryffindor with identical worried expressions. Draco fleetly wondered what it was like to be so… cared for. Judging by Harry's case, it was not happy.

"I never knew…" Granger said after a while, and mustered a wry smile for the girl next to her. "You really are something, Myrtle." If ghosts could blush, Myrtle would have.

"She is," Draco admitted, speaking to Granger yet looking at the ghost, "but Harry and I were the only ones to notice."

Granger nodded, sitting next to her comatose friend. Draco wished he could ask her about the part of Voldemort in Harry, but he had a suspicion that he knew more than she did. And he wasn't sure whether Harry would want _her_ to know… whether it wouldn't scare her away from _him_ when _he_ needed her.

"Do they treat _you_ alright here?" she asked of the ghost. When there was no response she looked up to find Myrtle with glittering ethereal tears trickling down _ her_ face. "What's wrong?"

Myrtle gave her a pained smile.

"My freedom was very short-lived, Hermione. But I'm grateful, nevertheless."

"I'm sorry," the Head Girl said, with honest regret.

"It will be alright… as long as Harry will pull through this."

"Harry sure has found some loyal friends in the least expected of places…" Granger said and her eyes shone crazily. She turned to Draco. "I'm sorry for accusing you, Malfoy. I'm just…"

"I know," he said, and to his own surprise, he really did.

"It's _Harry_," Myrtle concluded it for them.


	16. Out of Ordinary

A/N: Thanks for your feedback. I'm kind of struggling with the finer nuances of English, so if there is any kind and _patient_ person out there, who would be willing to go through the trouble of beta-ing, please, do help.  
I'd like to express special gratefulness to KillerDustBunny for thoughtful, constructive, and encouraging criticism.  
Brynn

Chapter 16: Out of Ordinary

Draco, though lacking appetite, bit into a tomato. It was sickly red and reminded him of… He spit it out, and threw the rest of it on the plate. Disgusting. He didn't know why they were even attempting to get him to eat… well, he knew, but they should have realised by now that it had no point. He looked wearily at the fancy-looking pyramid of bright green apples… but there were so many meanings, so many associations… no apples. He took a glass of milk. It was white. White was not good, but at least alright. It was black and green and red that bothered him…

Hell! The entire world bothered him right now! He couldn't find peace anywhere. He read until he fell asleep every night, and woke to find Harry exactly the same as he was in the evening. It was driving him mental. As though he was sharing the bedroom with a dead man. He wanted something to change, to have a reason for grief, or for joy, anything, just not this stalemate… it was choking him.

A young woman – Aretha – smiled at him as she sat down next to him.

"What's wrong with the tomato?" she asked cheerfully. He scowled at her.

"It's got guts and they are oozing out, that's what's wrong."

"Sorry I bothered you," she said, grimacing, stood up, and went over to another table. Draco remained solitary. In the past three days, all the long-term inhabitants of the Fourtower Black Fort (except the medi-wizards, who had orders) learnt to go out of his way. Therefore it surprised him when somebody sat down opposite him, immediately after the woman left. He neither looked, nor otherwise acknowledged that he had noticed he wasn't alone.

"You look better than the last time I saw you," said Snape's voice. Draco forced himself to remain calm. He had caused enough of a scene for one mealtime already.

"Yeah," he admitted, knowing perfectly well that it was true. After all, they – he and _Harry_ – did have a mirror in their bedroom. "Because Harry as good as killed himself to save me," he added quietly.

"Surely you're being too sentimental…"

"What would you know?" Draco finally glanced up, worrying his lower lip. It was hard to keep himself from scowling and shouting. Snape seemed surprised by his reaction, even so. Draco remembered the things the man said about Harry saving him on Sunday. This time he scowled.

"You've got no heart."

He stood up and walked away, leaving the dissected tomato and the gaping Snape behind.

D-D

"I'm sorry, Mr Malfoy. You may not go in there right now," said a female voice from under a black hood. Draco reflexively raised his wand.

"Get out of my way."

"I'm sorry, Mr Malfoy. It's the Dark Lord's orders."

Draco's wand wavered. He sighed and let it fall – he still wasn't allowed to do magic anyway.

"This is my room."

"I know, sir. Would you please follow me?"

"Follow you where?" he asked suspiciously. There was something going on. Something with Harry. He wanted to be there. He had wished for a change of any kind so long, and now that it – supposedly – came, he was nervous. He wanted to watch.

"To the Waterlily Chamber. You are to spend the night there."

Draco stared at the closed, locked and warded door, wishing desperately that he could see through it.

"Go, Draco," said Myrtle's quiet voice next to him. "Tom cast me out of there. I-"

"Come with me then. Please?" Just as he anticipated – he offered exactly what she was going to ask for. Funny, how Harry affected people. He nodded to the hooded witch.

D-D

"What are you thinking about?" Myrtle asked quietly at about three in the morning. Draco could neither sleep, nor concentrate, so they spent the night lounging on the classily decorated couches.

"My mother would have liked this room." He replied absently, his eyes skimming the chamber. It was obviously preserved in the state it was found when the Dark Order invaded the building. The soft pastel colours and flowery patterns definitely weren't Voldemort's style.

"Do you miss her?"

He shrugged.

"Not yet. I expect there will be instants when I will. But she wasn't an important _personality_ in my life."

"That's sad…" she said. He shrugged again.

"The only really important thing I have from her is… well, it sounds ironic… but it's the mythology around Harry. She was the one who told me the stories when I was really little… I guess she thought I wouldn't understand and remember them…"

Myrtle shot up in the air.

"I can't take this, Draco. I'm going to check on him."

"Go," he replied simply.

D-D

Less than two minutes later the door burst open with a loud crash that must have awakened the entire corridor, and Myrtle halted in the doorway, radiating.

"He's awake!" she yelled. Draco stared at her for a moment, then jumped to his feet and ran. He stopped a step short from the threshold to their room, with Myrtle in his wake. The door was still closed. There were voices arguing within. He hesitated… and his heart jumped as he recognised Harry's.

"If you actually bothered to find _something_ about Natural Healers, you would find that for them, Healing people they don't know is especially draining. And you just kept ordering him to Heal more and more… He's not a tool! He doesn't work as one!"

Draco's throat clenched. Harry spent more than half a week in coma, and the first thing he did upon waking up was shout at the Dark Lord for not treating Draco right.

"I thought we already established that," Voldemort replied calmly.

"I wanted to establish it in my words, not in yours, Tom," Harry said firmly.

"I already admitted that you were right. What more do you want?"

"I don't want people to be hurt… But I can't have that. So I'll have to settle with what I have now, right? Do you need help?"

Draco's eyes widened in surprise. The Dark Lord laughed.

"I'm neither stupid, nor generous, Harry Potter. I would not give you as much magic as to weaken myself _noticeably_."

"You do realise Draco is just outside the door," Harry remarked dryly.

"I do. But both Draco and Myrtle _will_ learn to not speak when they are forbidden to."

There was a pause and the door opened. Draco found himself face to face with the Dark Lord. He gulped. For a moment neither of them moved, and he felt the tension rise-

"Good night, Tom," Harry said, effectively breaking it. Draco quickly stepped aside, and Voldemort strode away into the darkness of the unlit corridors.

When he turned back to the room, Myrtle was long since within. She was excitedly pouring out her heart to Harry, who listened to her silently, with a patient smile. He sat on the bed, and looked healthier than he did the first evening they spent in the fortress. That was how Draco saw him as he stepped in.

Not thinking about his actions, he crossed the room and threw his arms around Harry's torso. When he came round he blushed and attempted to pull away and apologise, but then he realised that Harry had hugged back.

"It's alright, Draco. I was worried about you, too," he said simply, and Draco nodded gratefully. He still didn't want anybody to know about it, but he wasn't too embarrassed in front of these two beings. They had seen him do worse things.

"You _slept_ through Hermione's visit," Myrtle offered. That caught Harry's attention, and he pulled back, allowing Draco to straighten, only to uncompromisingly pull him down to sit on the bed the next instance.

"She's fine?" Harry asked.

"She's-"

"Worried about me. I know. But otherwise?"

"She didn't mention any troubles… apart from Snape," Myrtle added. Granger didn't actually 'mention' Snape, but he had made a problem of himself right here.

"We kicked him out when he started bitching about you," Draco said cheerfully. The occasion suddenly seemed funny to him. Two sixteen-year-olds and a ghost kicked out Severus Snape. It was hilarious.

"Poor bloke. You and Hermione are wearing him thin…" Harry said, smiling widely. It was unbelievable that a few hours ago he was so close to dying.

"I understand that you worry about Draco and Hermione, Harry," Myrtle said shaking her head, "but how can you worry about _that man_? He hates you…"

"He doesn't hate me," the Gryffindor said, mock-smugly. "He's just confused about me."

"Confused?" Draco asked, and then realised that it was self-explanatory. _Everyone_ was confused about Harry. It was frustrating at times, and Severus Snape was a man who hated mysteries by nature. Add the facts that Harry was a Gryffindor, an indeliberate trouble-maker, and Voldemort's archenemy…

"Because of you, I guess," Harry said, erasing Draco's line of thoughts. "Because you befriended me. Because you protect me."

"It's more like _you_ protect _me_," Draco grumbled. Harry patted his back and then put the arm around his shoulders.

"That's another thing that confuses him."

Draco groaned.

"How can you be so… so…"

"What?"

"_Forgiving_?" Myrtle helped him. Harry shrugged, smiling.

"I was… made like that."

D-M

"Ah, Severus!" Minerva called, having spotted the teacher at the Head Table. It was a rare occasion when he turned up for dinner. She slid down into a chair next to him.

"Minerva," he grumbled, obviously unhappy about seeing her. Minerva made a quick decision to execute vengeance by being as friendly and cheerful as she could, and watch if she managed to drive him up the wall. Annoying Severus was one of the best pastimes.

"How is Miss Granger doing? I believe she has had her first 'bonus lesson' already?"

The man scowled. Minerva's eyes narrowed, as she watched him. There was some foul play going on here. She repeated her question in her head and blanched. Was it possible that… Severus and Hermione Granger?

"Don't even mention that infuriating brat to me…" he spat angrily and Minerva gasped with relief. So there was no sordid affair, thank Merlin.

"Don't be too strict, Severus," she admonished. "The poor girl just lost her best friend – she's got the right to be distraught." Which was truth, and Minerva made a mental note to act on it herself. She had heard – and noticed – that Hermione spent a lot of time with her other friends, especially the two youngest Weasleys. At least she had someone to offer her solace. Her marks haven't faltered, though, which made Minerva immensely proud.

"Yes, _distraught_," Severus mumbled, scowling at his food.

Minerva gave up, wondering what bit into the man's nose this time. It must have been much worse than usually for him to be drowning in such a deep pond of self-pity. The thought crossed her mind if somebody didn't actually hurt him. She had no idea how such a thing could be managed, but it certainly was a possibility.

M-D

"Harry, what are you worried about?" Myrtle asked suddenly, startling Draco from the middle of a passage about 'first contact'. He had been basically reading about all those things he had done wrong.

"Too many things to fit into one answer, Myrtle," the boy replied, and leant against his bed. For some unfathomable reason he preferred sitting on the carpet. His eyes met with Draco's. "Did _you_ get Draco to tie his hair?" he asked.

"Yes."

Harry smiled.

"He's different."

Draco quirked an eyebrow.

"Is that a good, or a bad 'different'?"

"It's a stronger different. An 'I am a personality' different."

Draco frowned, trying to make out whether Harry was making fun of him. It didn't seem so, and Harry usually didn't make fun of anybody. Not like this, anyway.

"He's saying that you look like a big grown wizard," Myrtle explained, and both she and Harry chuckled. Draco rubbed his temples. He had found that his hair wasn't getting into everything when it was tied back, and for a change enjoyed being able to read, write, walk and _eat_ without a complex series of tricks (yes, after Harry woke up, he started enjoying food again). But looking adult… he never considered that. In his current position, in might not have been beneficial for him…

"Don't worry about it, Draco. Tom is not stupid – he uses his eyes, but doesn't let them trick him," Harry said. Draco stared at him.

"Oh, _he's saying_ that even if you looked like a toddler, Tom would know exactly what you are capable of."

Put like this it made sense and Draco nodded. Harry, however, had returned to his previous contemplation, and the expression on his face was hinting on ugly images.

"Time is up, Harry. Come clean."

A pair of green (entirely green, untouched by red) eyes scrutinised them both. Harry sighed.

"The ultimatum. Tom's pressing it," he breathed.

Draco frowned. For him, there was little hesitation.

"This is Dumbledore we're talking about. He tried to kill you!"

Harry glared at him furiously.

"He was just protecting _you_!"

"By offing our Saviour?" Draco exclaimed. He couldn't believe that after everything he had heard about Dumbledore's cruelty toward Harry, the boy was still trying to protect the gaffer. No one should have been exposed to such things. There was no excuse.

"You don't understand. You _can't_ understand."

What did he not understand? That Dumbledore drove Harry to suicide? That, after it turned out that he wouldn't die, Dubledore poisoned him? That was enough to land anyone in Azkaban until their death. If that was the Headmaster's idea of protection-

"Then explain it to us-" Myrtle started, but Harry shook his head.

"Be glad you don't," he concluded, and turned to Draco, who was crushing the handle of his wand in his fingers.

"Draco, this is Dumbledore we're talking about. The head of the resistance against Voldemort."

Draco didn't much care. It was the 'head of the resistance', who _forced_ him to join the other side. Who virtually cast him out of the school at the age of sixteen. Whose 'protection' had caused Draco to be disowned. He sneered.

"Then they'd have to find another head."

"No. I have a better solution."

Draco knew what was coming and this time he was faster. He had Harry in a full body-bind before anything destructive happened.

"A _better_ solution, Harry?" he asked angrily. "Better for who? For me? For Granger? For the tens of thousands wizards and witches out there somewhere?"

Harry nodded. Draco sighed, shook his head, and released the spell. He took Harry's left hand into his and played with _his_ figers even as he explained.

"I know you think that Dumbledore is irreplacable. You might be right… but Dumbledore is nowhere near as important for the _people_ as you."

Harry opened his mouth to object, but Draco stopped him.

"I know you didn't want it, but you have been made into a… Myrtle?" he asked for help, knowing that Harry would believe the ghost easier than he would believe Draco. Myrtle was not biased.

"A beacon of hope," she said.

"A beacon of hope," Draco repeated. "The will follow you – dead or alive. _But_," Draco stressed, because Harry was about to point out that was exactly why he could die and it wouldn't matter, "if you live, they will follow _you_. If you die, they will follow _Dumbledore_. _I_ don't trust Dumbledore with leading the society."

"But you trust me," Harry said dryly, shocked when both Draco and Myrtle nodded. "Bloody Hell."


	17. Equivalence

Chapter 17: Equivalence

"This is why I didn't want to tell you," Harry grumbled.

"What?"

"Now you're worried, too."

"Harry, I don't think either me or Myrtle give a damn about Dumbledore. For both of us this dilemma is not a dilemma at all," Draco replied, but the lugubrious expression didn't leave his face.

"We're worried about you," Myrtle explained. "You have relapsed again."

"It's been a long time. I'd hoped that you had changed your mind."

Harry brought his knees to his chest and rested his chin on his forearms.

"It's not… something so short-term," he said. "It's the outcome of the past fifteen years – you can't change that in two weeks. I don't think you can change that at all. Ultimately, Tom is going to kill me anyway. I got used to the idea. It would be best for you to do the same."

"How can you be so sure? It seemed to me like you were getting along just fine?" Myrtle asked, puzzled.

"There is a Prophecy," Harry set forward. "I don't know if it is true or fabricated, but I saw _the_ Prophet say another Prophecy, and that one _was_ true. Either way, Tom believes it. That is why he was always after my blood."

Draco simply denied it. Not even the Dark Lord managed everything he attempted. This was one thing he wouldn't be able to do. Myrtle chuckled, albeit somewhat stiffly.

"That's something! They got Tom to believe in the Boy Who Lived! They only miss Snape now."

Said boy looked at her with terror.

"I don't _want_ Snape to follow me…" Harry whined, and sent both Myrtle and Draco into gales of laughter.

"I just don't understand this, Harry," Draco said seriously, while Myrtle's laugh was still filling the background. "I don't grasp why you didn't try to hurt yourself for so long and then suddenly tried it today…"

"I guess…" Harry trailed of, thinking. Draco left him. Last Myrtle's chuckle faded into silence. "I guess it's because when I'm concentrating on something, I don't have time to think about death and suicide and… stuff."

"Then we'll simply have to smother you with work-"

Draco was interrupted by a knock on the door. He glanced questioningly at Harry, who shrugged in response. There was a second knock.

"Enter," Draco said wearily. After all, they were rarely interrupted without a good reason.

"Mr Malfoy, Mr Potter, the Dark Lord-"

"Wishes to see us," they filled in unison, sharing a glance of comprehension. Draco was, as always of late, little fearful, but generally expectant. Harry, though, looked resigned.

"See? Work smothers me anyway."

It struck Draco. He didn't _like_ Harry looking resigned.

D-D

"Draco."

"My Lord," the blond replied and bowed. His knees were grateful that he wasn't required to kneel.

"Harry."

"Yes, Tom?" the boy said with a lot more than little resentment. Draco blinked and stared at his friend, amazed with the change. There were wrinkles on Harry's face, wrinkles that weren't supposed to be there for years to come yet. The ends of his hair seemingly started to glow, and Draco belatedly realised that the Glamourie he almost-remembered Snape casting was crumbling, dissolving under the pressure of sheer angry power.

The Dark Lord watched the transformation with vivid interest. The destruction spread and within seconds reached the roots, and Harry's hair was once again the grey Draco neigh-recalled it being in the hospital wing. This time, though, it wasn't such a shock, until Harry looked straight at him. There were veins of red in the emerald of _his_ eyes.

"Severus," spoke Voldemort and Draco's eyes darted around. A cloaked, hooded person kneeling on the floor arose. He had noticed the man before, of course, but had not recognised him. Crouched, looking downwards, and with the hood pulled low into his face, Snape couldn't see the change Harry had gone through – his reaction was merely a startled gasp. He reached for his wand (probably out of reflex), and so did Draco.

Harry and Voldemort raised their right hands in unison, in the same gesture, to stop the two wizards. It seemed to have startled the Potions Master yet worse, as well as confused him, but his quizzical glance didn't gain him any answers. Draco felt a weird satisfaction, realising that he knew and understood more than his one-time mentor. In fact, he was so focused on Snape, that he missed when Voldemort reverted his attention to him.

"Draco, how does your education proceed?"

"Well, my Lord," Draco replied truthfully. "Myrtle and Harry recommended me a book that helped me understand my condition greatly."

"Indeed?" A pair of red eyes switched from the blond to the – currently – grey-haired teenager. "And how did Harry know about the book?" he asked with genuine interest.

"An acquaintance of mine was a Natural Healer," Harry replied easily, and noticing the sudden spark in the Dark Lord's eye waved his hand and added: "But don't bother – they are dead."

The spark didn't entirely die, but Voldemort didn't question farther, obviously deeming the matter unworthy of more attention, since there was no way he could profit of it. The crimson gaze returned to Draco.

"You please me, child. Go to the Library and request _Human Anatomy and Elementary Necromancy_. Joaquim was already informed of your visit."

"Yes, my Lord," Draco bowed, cast a sympathetic glance at Harry (who didn't acknowledge it) and walked out of the room. The conversation didn't resume until he was out of earshot, or resumed under the protection of Silencing Sphere. Draco desperately wished that Harry wouldn't need his powers today.

D-N

"Harry, I wish to hear your decision," said the Dark Lord, and Severus drew a sharp breath. There was something strange in the man's tone, something he had never heard before – as though _ he_ considered Potter… not equal, but more than an enemy or a follower.

"If you don't want to kill me, Tom, this is a wrong way to go about it," the insolent brat replied with icy composure. Severus's rage flared. Did the idiot _yearn_ for the Dark Lord to curse him! Though, judging by what he had seen in the bathroom in Hogwarts, that certainly was an option…

To his greatest surprise – and dismay – the Dark Lord did no such thing.

"I think it is _fair_," he replied, with a faint touch of derision when uttering the word 'fair'.

"It _is_ the Slytherin way," the brat _admitted_. "There is nothing else but insanity to expect from you, and much as it pains me, I prefer your Slytherin side to your insane side."

Severus gaped quite openly, deciding that this was not reality – it was a nightmare, and he wished to wake up, all the more once he realised that the Dark Lord's response was a quiet chuckle.

"Who am I talking to now?"

Potter grimaced.

"Your influence in my head, but there's not enough to create more than flashes of a separate personality. It's still Harry Potter's decision, only it is a Harry Potter with a more Slytherin attitude."

This was not happening. Couldn't be. If this was truth, the Headmaster would have known… wouldn't he? Though, as Severus recalled the encounter in the hospital wing, Potter did sound rather shizophrenic…

"Perfect," the Dark Lord replied evenly, though his voice suddenly lacked the customary coldness. 'Your influence in my head' the brat had said. Was it possible? If so, what did it mean? For Severus, for Potter, for the entire wizarding world?

"I have no intention to invade Hogwarts, as long as you give me Dumbledore."

Potter didn't seem happy about the prospect, but neither was he furious. Seeing as the Headmaster _had_ attempted to kill him, it wasn't as surprising.

"I can only lure him out. You would have to take care of him yourself."

"Only lure him out…" The Dark Lord narrowed his eyes to slits. Severus was on the verge of offering that he would find a way to murder the Headmaster himself, especially when the other option was letting a generation be slaughtered, when _he_ continued: "I can accept that."

"How do you intend to accomplish that?" Severus grit out bitterly. "The Headmaster is not stupid. _And_ he knows that you abide in the Black Fort."

Throughout it all he couldn't bring himself to face the child, for more than one reason. Fear and guilt were only some of them, and he refused to identify the rest.

"Of course, he wouldn't fall for you trying to arrange a meeting," Potter graciously admitted. "You can neither appear free nor offer useful information," the Dark Lord said, apparently amused, though _why_ was beyond Severus's understanding.

"Right. And he also wouldn't come to save me," Potter said calmly, despite the thought deserving some righteous anger to accompany it. "He doesn't want me to live, anyway – and it sounds much more worthy the Boy Who Lived to die a martyr's death in the evil Dark Lord's clutches, than snuff it in the hospital wing."

Voldemort _chuckled again_. Severus promised himself to never drink Muggle alcohol again. It was interferring with Sobering Pills – apparently.

"You have a plan?"

Potter tapped his temple.

"Give me a while."

S-D

It took more than a while since Draco returned to the hall, but Harry eventually ceded pacing and faced Voldemort with a disturbingly lucid gleam in his eyes. He tapped his temple with the tip of his wand and smirked.

"Harry Potter, as his original self is not pathetic. Not at all. I believe that if you gave him a little space and time, and perhaps a bit of attention, too, you would get yourself a great asset." He paused, but before Snape – who had already opened his mouth – could interfere, he gave a harsh, pained laugh. "You know, Tom, this youth is largely underestimated. He is quite brilliant underneath the grime you and Dumbledore covered his mind with."

Lord Voldemort appeared untouched by the proclamation, though there was a certain… _patience_, perhaps – much as that wasn't one of the Dark Lord's virtues often displayed – in his voice, indicating that he was more satisfied with the supposed brilliance of Harry Potter than disappointed with _his_ lack of submission.

"You _do_ have a plan?" he inquired with equal amount of irritation and excitement. An excited Dark Lord was never a good thing, especially if he was in Draco's vicinity, but for some reason there was no cursing involved.

Harry quirked a smile that was really more of a smirk.

"Yes, of course. Draco _once or twice_ suggested that I was kind of equivalent to the Muggle Jesus Christ."

There was a silence as the Potions Master, the Dark Lord, and the _former_ school rival of Harry Potter scrambled for words.

"I did…" Draco admitted in the end. After all, it was the truth. He had just never implied anything alse, and now he was afraid… afraid that Harry had thought of something that was supposed to have happened in the Muggles' myths, and that was going to be unnecessarily dangerous…

"Go through with that myth," Harry said calmly, and Draco suddenly knew that he should never have used the parallel. "Crucify me."

"What?" interposed Snape, obviously encountered in an area where he lacked knowledge. Finally. Draco felt some smug satisfaction as he found that there was an entire sphere where he was incomparably more knowledgeable than his smartest professor. He watched Harry's face with awe, and the realisation slowly dawned.

"No…"

Harry ignored him.

"Put up a cross in some wizard-frequent place," he said in the same cool tone, as though the implications of the idea didn't touch him at all. And Draco guessed that it might have been so – this was Tom Riddle in Harry's head, the one who would retreat the moment Harry was in pain, and leave the original personality to deal with it. In that moment, he felt a burning hatred for the Dark Lord, perhaps for the first time in his life.

But this Harry/Tom didn't care at all.

"Hogsmeade sounds ideal – no Muggles to offend, far from Ministry, close to Dumbledore. Tie me to it. Or nail me to it – that sounds more cruel. Put a crown of thorns on my head."

It all sounded so outlandish, that Draco was faintly aware he would never be able to imagine something like that, unless he experienced or witnessed it. Now the latter was likely… he wasn't sure what to feel, how to react… He just knew that he was afraid.

"Why would the Lord do that?" Snape asked, puzzled, and Draco scoffed. Such ignorance – a half-blood wizard, one with a Muggle father, and he didn't know the best known of Muggles' myths.

Voldemort laughed and Harry smirked at him, or – more likely – smirked at the shared comprehension.

"It is a wonderful irony, isn't it?"

Harry chuckled and gestured around himself, encompassing the entire hall and metaphorically the entire world it symbolised for him in that moment. Draco knew why his friend was doing this, after all, he had encouraged _him_ to choose this option.

"You get to be my Pontius Pilate. I… don't really mind." The end of sentence lacked the calm, as though it was suddenly someone else saying it. Harry.

"You're not going to get killed!" somebody yelled, and it took Draco a while to notice that it was him. Thanks to Edgar Bones he now understood the peculiar desire to keep Harry alive and well, but this… this went past the protectiveness he was supposed to feel.

"Not necessarily," the green-eyed boy protested.

"Harry-"

"I don't intend to have you killed," the Dark Lord stated with a nonchalance that none of his current followers had ever encountered – perhaps a leftover to the original – human – Tom Riddle. The one Myrtle remembered with nostalgia, but not hatred. It was hard, but Draco could almost imagine that this monster had once been a man.

"You don't," Harry responded softly. "But Dumbledore does."

"I will kill Dumbledore before he kills you."

Harry merely nodded. Snape and Draco stared at them puzzled, as the two insane wizards broke into _smiles_. Draco couldn't quite believe his ears. He never suspected the Dark Lord of being able to act with respect, or act _humane_ for that matter, but it was now patience, nonchalance, _and_ _protectiveness_… Harry Potter _could_ make miracles happen, after all. Narcissa had been right.

"On Friday."

"Why _Friday_?" asked Voldemort. Draco would have enjoyed watching his Father's – _former_ Father's – face at that moment. He promised himself to attend a meeting in the future where Lucius and Harry would stand against each other in the Dark Lord presence.

"I want Draco to be healthy by that time, in the case it turns into a slaughter again."

Voldemort liften a nonexistent eyebrow.

"Ah. And why not Saturday or Sunday then?" There was a slight pause when Harry looked at the Dark Lord like Draco would look at Greg or Vince, and it was scary that someone had the gall to do that. Then he was reminded that Harry's self-preservation instincs were… not.

"Of course," the Dark Lord inclined his head. Obviously, _he_ knew more about the Bible than Snape did. "We will do it on Saturday."

"No, Tom." Harry resolutely shook his head, and Draco finally realised that the date had in fact little to do with the Bible – there was a Hogsmeade weekend scheduled, and Harry wanted to protect his former classmates. "You said this is my plan, so we are doing this my way."

There was another while of silence. Draco would have awaited a duel of wills, finishing with Harry giving in, but it seemed as though the Dark Lord merely bethought it, and then inclined his head.

"This schedule does have its own benefits should you fail."

Harry smirked.

"I will not."


	18. Messiah

A/N: Just a little warning. There is a crucifixion ahead, performed by a psychopathic Dark Wizard. Also, few of the characters use references to Bible. If it offends you, do not read it.

Chapter 18: Messiah

"I don't like this idea, Harry. It's creepy. And this must hurt…" Draco was slightly quivering, his eyes darting up and down Harry's body.

The raven-haired boy smiled instead of answer. How could somebody be so calm, and smiling, while he was in this position was beyond Draco's understanding, but that definition included much of Harry's actions.

Harry was lying on a rough wooden cross, laid horizontally on the grass at the time, but soon to be raised in the centre of Hogsmeade. He wore nothing but a pair of originally blue, now bloodied Muggle jeans, and artistically ragged Gryffindor school robe. It looked rather tragic – so credibly tragic, that it had Draco on edge… even though he was aware that it was just a hoax.

"It does not yet."

"Yet?" Draco asked with a hint of hystery in his voice. Harry tried to move his hand, but the manacles stopped him, and he belatedly realised that he could offer no gesture of comfort. So he merely smiled again.

"It will."

"When they put this thing up…" Draco cried, and just stopped himself from kicking the wooden monstrosity.

"It's going to be alright-"

"It's not. Harry, you don't understand. I don't know _that_ much about Jesus, but he _died_-"

"To be resurrected three days later. Don't worry, Draco. It's going to be alright."

"Harry…"

Draco sobbed and damned his masks to Hell, awkwardly putting his hands around the other boy's frame and hiding his face in the crook of _his_ neck. Harry closed his eyes, turned his head as much as he could, and buried his nose in Draco's hair.

"It is going to be alright," he repeated like a broken record.

"Indeed," said a cold voice. Draco lightning-fast leapt to his feet and turned to acknowledge the person standing in the gateway. "I have come to add the finishing touches."

Had Draco been watching Harry, he would have seen him flinch. As it was, the Slytherin hastily bowed under the crimson scrutiny.

"Go back to your room."

Draco opened his mouth to protest, but Harry behind him whispered "Go," and it was all it took for him to obey. He had to _believe_. With last, hopeful glance back over his shoulders he disappeared in the fortress.

"Hello, Harry."

"Hello, Tom."

Voldemort walked forwards, and his black robe fluttered in the breeze. Harry was caught up in the sight, wondering how something so dark and evil could be so light. The thin material clung to the Dark Lord's body in the front, and overally completed the image of a magical creature. He didn't look like a human at all.

He stood next to the cross and looked down at the boy bound to it. Harry was staring back, straight ahead, glad for the relief of his neck muscles.

"So it does not hurt yet?"

Harry closed his eyes and gulped.

"It does not, _Lord_."

"I have to rectify that."

Harry fervently hoped that the gate had been closed, or at least that there was a Silencing Sphere cast around the place, so that Draco wouldn't return. Mere seconds later there was a blinding pain from his left hand and for a while he didn't feel anything else, wondering if he had the rest of his body at all. It took another few seconds until he dared look, but Voldemort moved to his right hand by that time and another onslaught of pain hit his body, numbing his mind and he just wished it would go away, that somebody would perform the Sectumsempra on him, because that fucking Dark Art hurt so much less than Muggle traditional tools.

There was a thick, long piece of metal sticking out of his palm and, oh, a steady stream of scarlet liquid already forming. Any attempt to move sent more shots of pain through him. He tried to relax, but that caused his hands to hurt more. So he just lay there, staring up at the sky and wondering how he could have proposed this.

"I would put some through your feet, Harry, but I want you back, so not yet."

The boy gulped. Voldemort's face appeared in his sight. There was no smile, not even smirk this time, just calm and content.

"You are still a sick fuck, Tom, aren't you…" Harry managed raspily.

"I love your pain," the Dark Lord replied and bent down. Harry never stopped staring at the sky as the lipless mouth touched his own, as the human-like-warm tongue pried his lips open and invited itself… He gave in and kissed back, shocked by the fact that he could actually _feel_ this.

His world shrank to the blue of the sky, the blazing pain from his hands, and the morbid pleasure from his tongue.

Then Voldemort straightened and this time there was a smile on his face. Harry didn't move; he just lay, open-mouthed, glassy-eyed, just like before.

"You are beautiful, my little enemy. And you are in pain. Dumbledore will believe our story like this."

The boy didn't register much of the statement.

Voldemort re-appeared in his vision a minute later, though this time it was his hands. Long, pale fingers carefully held another of the promises – a woven chaplet of thorn branches. It moved up, then touched Harry's hair, and evenually rested on his crown, softly pushed down to stay in place even while the boy was lying. Sharp tips of thorns scraped his skin and blood trickled, sticking strands of hair together.

Harry couldn't stop the tears anymore – they just flowed. Voldemort enjoyed them, obviously, for his voice sounded almost cheerful as he aimed his wand at Harry's forehead and said: "_Portus_."

N-M

Her body wasn't as agile as five decades ago, but – thanks to her exercise – Minerva did survive the sprint from the gates to the gargoyle. For the first time in the past almost twenty years she didn't wait for the staircase to carry her, but ran up the stairs. Instead of franatically pounding on the door she pushed it open, uncaring that she found Albus without his robe, only in simple white cotton shirt and trousers with as many pockets as an average robe had, in the middle of feeding Fawkes.

He paused and looked at her, ever-smiling face quickly contorting into a frown.

"Albus – Voldemort. In Hogsmeade. He's got Potter."

M-N

It was ridiculous.

Ridiculous, but exactly as Harry had foretold. He knew people. And despite what many of them believed, wizards were but humans.

Once it was obvious that there was no Voldemort and no Death Eaters in the vicinity, the townsmen didn't return to their business, in favour of forming a vast crowd around the only thing that arrived in the rush of magic – a large wooden cross with _the_ Harry Potter bound and nailed to it. Fascinated and horrified, mothers covered their children's eyes, but stared themselves, unmoving. A few of the more easily influenced sank to their knees, but generally all motion ceased, all voices hushed, and the wizarding world, represented by the villagers of Hogsmeade, watched their Saviour suffer.

No one moved to help the dying boy. Everyone cared, but no one moved. It might have been ten minutes, but to Harry it seemed like small eternity, because he was not allowed to faint. He had to be there, to see, to hear, to tell.

Eventually the crowd parted (like the Red Sea, Harry thought with some of his sarcasm that wasn't dead yet), and the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the Head of the Order of the Phoenix, the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, the prizewinner of the Order of Merlin, first class, and generally the 'greatest wizard alive' strolled up the Main Street, and reached the Square.

Dumbledore waved his hand. The ground cracked, quaked, and, with a few more minor tremors, steps rose that lead from his feet almost to Harry's. The old wizard pulled up his robes and walked forth, stopping atop his staircase, looking down into Harry's eyes. The emerald was filled with pain, which was virtually all the boy was feeling right now, but he felt like his soul was being purged. The past that had left him stained was being erased. It felt _good_.

"Why…" he started, staring into the wrinkled old face, into a pair of dull azure eyes. His voice was raspy and strained. Dumbledore visibly flinched.

"…have you forsaken me?"

Gasps, shrieks and shouts sounded from the crowd and created a ripple effect, because only those who were closest could hear at first, but they repeated Harry's words to those who stood behind them.

"I only wanted to save the rest of us, Harry."

An old, wrinkled hand caressed the boy's face, pulled a lock of black hair from before his unfocused eyes and put it behind his ear, and rose up to pull off the crown.

"_Eloi_…" Harry breathed the trigger, and both wizards vanished.

N-N

When they touched down, Harry's vision was blurred more than what the lack of glasses would cause, but he didn't much care anymore. From this point on he didn't have to cling to consciousness. He was finally allowed to faint, and leave it in the hands of his mortal enemy whether he lived or died.

Strangely, he had the feeling that he just might live.

Dumbledore landed more or less safely – on his feet, even though he fell two yards because there were no stairs for him here – still holding the crown of thorns in his left hand. He spun and cast a curse at Harry, as the boy half-expected him to do the second they were out of sight of the public.

Harry was resigned. He would have relaxed at the moment, but the pain in his hands didn't allow him to. So he bid his pitiful existence goodbye and watched the blurred mass of orange interspersed with silver approach. He took his last breath, smirked, and…

…A sphere of green formed in front of him and swallowed the curse, thickening as it was feeding on the additional magic. Harry had never seen this counter-spell before, but it was the smart, cruelly intelligent kind of upgrade to defense Voldemort would come up with. His smirk changed into a surprised smile for a split second, and then faded altogether as the pain took over once again.

"I told you I wanted you back, Harry…" said an even but audibly excited voice somewhere from the ground.

"Tom-" Dumbledore exclaimed, angry, but not really surprised.

"… and I meant I wanted you back _alive_," the Dark Lord cleared any confusion, and brought another ghost of smile on Harry's lips. With a shot, the air around the old wizard imploded and scorched him.

"Ah, I forgot to warn you, Dumbledore. I have improved anti-Apparition wards. You cannot sense them now. And, as we have just seen, you cannot break them."

He stepped out from the shadow of the cross and fired a hex that was countered by the Headmaster – who busied himself with putting out his beard – with ease. Another one, wandless, ripped the bloodied crown from Dumbledore's grasp. It landed on the grass, forgotten by anyone but Harry, who managed to half-focus his vision staring at it. A soundless exchange of hexes in another area, however, drew his attention back to the duelling warlocks.

"Why did you do it, Harry?" asked the Headmaster with dismay, reflecting the last curse into midair. Voldemort either wanted to hear the answer, too, or wanted to laugh at Dumbledore's face when _he_ heard it. Harry blinked, feeling the alter himself filter into his mind. It was equally accustomed to pain as the original, which was saying a lot.

"I will share with you one of the most important findings of my _short_ life, sir. God… should remain abstract."


	19. Interface

A/N: I'm glad you liked the last chapter. It was really… a difficult setting. I hope you'll like this one as well. The difficult setting continues.  
Brynn

Chapter 19: Interface

He was rewarded by making the Dark Lord laugh in front of audience, which was still a rather rare occurence. The Headmaster seemed startled, incomprehensive. Harry didn't bother to clear it for him – he understood what had brought him to this point in life, what had caused that he had to choose between the lives of Hogwarts students and the life of Hogwarts Headmaster, and why he chose as he did. He should never have been revered, but he was.

A deity for the faithful. An icon for the doubting.

"You have your answer, old man. Whether you are satisfied or not-" Voldemort paused to erect another of those Curse-swallowing Shielding Spells to avoid Dumbledore's underhanded attack. "It's time to end this."

"I will not allow you to criple the light more than you already did, Tom." Twinkle-void cerulean eyes strayed to the undersized frame hung on the cross.

"I'm not asking permission."

Dumbledore sighed. Before the Dark Lord could react, he reached up to grip his glasses, muttered something unintelligible, and disappeared in a swirl of magic of his emergency Portkey.

N-S

"Severus!" an enraged voice charged with frightening power filled the hallway, rattling armors and throwing pictures of the wall by sheer force. A few of Slytherin students who had no classes on Friday afternoon scurried away, regretting that they had abandoned the common room.

A door down the corridor opened, and the sable man calmly walked out. He looked into the eyes of death with icy countenance, as he did hundred times before. The concept of dying didn't frighten him anymore, even though he never expected it to be at the hand of his employer. Actually, this way he had a chance on a painless death.

At that particular moment Albus Dumbledore looked more sinister than the Dark Lord ever managed to look. On the other hand, the Dark Lord never was one to attempt to appear sinister…

All of this Severus realised without being particularly thrown off by the display. There was just too little he could lose. His inner Slytherin protested to such philosophy, but his inner Slytherin wasn't one that had hurt at the hands of his father, nor the one that writhed under Crucio uncountable times, nor the one that suffered with every wrong done to either of the two people in the world he deemed worthy of his affection.

"Yes, Headmaster?"

His abandon seemed to only anger the warlock further – wind rose in the isolated dungeon corridor, and tore at their clothes. Severus closed the door to protect the children within the classroom. Whatever happened, they should neither witness it, nor be caught in the consequences.

"Tell me a good reason why I should not execute you for treason."

Severus closed his eyes for a brief moment, took a deep breath and braced himself. Apparently, the plan had been implemented, and it had been unsuccessful.

"I did what I had to protect the students in Hogwarts."

"Severus-" Dumbledore _growled_.

"There was a conflict of interest, Headmaster, and I chose in accordance with your ideals."

Against his will he shivered as the pair of lighting-blue eyes bore into his, but he didn't look away. He stood still, waiting for his sentence.

"I expect you in my office immediately after your last class today. And this report better contained _everything_."

Severus remained still, watching the back of the retreating wizard and counting in his head. If cats truly had nine lives, then he had two left.

He turned on his heel and marched back into the classroom, closing the door _quietly_, which seemed to surprise the entire sixth-year Newt class. He surveyed the room, mentally thanking all gods that these students were half-competent, and so accustomed to unusual occurences, that none of their potions were likely to explode despite the disturbance. He passed the blackboard and sat down on his chair, blankly gazing at the stack of essays on his desk. The upper one he had already started to correct. Somehow, he couldn't quite focus to read the red markings. Maybe he wasn't quite as impervious to fear as he had been in the past. But… why? He lived his life knowing there would be no redempion for him. What made his want to continue?

He looked up when a shadow fell on the essay. Hermione Granger reached out and quietly deposited a sample of her early completed potion into the designated box. She paused for a second and distractedly bit on her lower lip.

"Sir, is everything alright?" she asked, quietly enough to not be heard by the Slytherins sitting in the first row. He blinked and scowled a her. Nothing was 'alright'. She stood nervously and waited for his response.

"I expect you on Sunday morning, Miss Granger. Do not be late."

S-D

The picture of Harry bound to the cross haunted Draco's every step. He had fled into the building blindly, disgusted with himself, ashamed of the weakness and fear which caused him to abandon his friend. Now that the panic wasn't suppressing his ability to think clearly anymore, he found himself in a deserted corridor. A look out of the window suggested he was in the third floor, well past the bedroom that probably had been his initial destination (though he couldn't quite remember). This part of the fortress wasn't used by the Death Eaters, and he was glad that no one had the chance to observe his less than lucid state.

He wondered how could Harry accept it. That. All that happened to him, all that he was forced into doing.

Draco could understand making choices for other people, weilding power over them, controlling them… but he couldn't even imagine letting someone control him. It terrified him. Especially should that 'someone' be psychopathic Dark wizard with a penchant for torture.

"How can he do this to himself?" Draco whispered into the silence, not sure himself whether the question was fair. Had Harry had any choice in this after all? Then again, he _had_ tried to avoid it – by killing himself, sure, but… face to face with the alternative, Draco had to think whether it after all wouldn't have been better to just let him die.

He was shocked out of his reverie as a chill penetrated his body. He turned his head and eyed the immaterial hand on his shoulder.

"Don't be mad at him, Draco. He's doing this for us – all of us… After all, we _did_ bully him into this."

"I never told him to get crucified," Draco cried. "He could have done thousand different things-"

"And yet he chose this," Myrtle argued. "I respect his choices. Then again, knowing Harry, he probably finds it… if not humouros, then certainly laughable."

"_Laughable_!"

"Well, he would consider it a joke. Harry James Potter – a wizarding Jesus Christ. Loved and loathed by the masses. Hung on the cross to redeem those masses. Does it sound familiar?"

It did. A little. He didn't remember much of those Muggle myths, but he recognised this one. He had aways been more focused on the Harry Potter mythology, and even that had been banned by his father as he got older.

"Myrtle… were you by any chance Muggleborn?" he asked, and remained somewhat surprised when the ghost seemed to have anticipated a question of the sort.

"Of course I was. Why do you think I would have been Tom's choice victim? It's all in the breed…" she finished in an awful high-pitched sing-song voice.

Draco shuddered and avoided looking at her. He hated Myrtle's 'moods' and it sounded as though she were getting into another one. Hopefully there was no lavatory anywhere too close…

She surprised him again by merely sighing.

"Go back down, Draco. I know Tom, so trust me… Harry will come back alive, but he's going to need you."

D-D

It was cold outside. The female Healer – Anabelle – managed to pester Draco into moving inside, eventually even into moving to his bedroom. He sat on one of the two chairs, and stared at the door. He had attempted to stare out of the window, but kept turning around at every of the slightest sounds from the hallway, so he eventually gave up.

It seemed quite ironic. He spent five days wishing that Harry would get up and out of his bed, and now that very bed looked so painfully empty without him. Draco still failed to wrap his mind around the concept of sharing a bedroom with Harry Potter, but at the same time realised that he wouldn't want it to change.

Myrtle had left him alone – probably went to find a cozy bathroom with nice acoustics for wailing. In his current state of mind, Draco couldn't say he missed her.

He missed Harry. He was afraid for Harry.

When the Dark Lord entered the adjacent corridor he knew. There was a startled yell and a woman screamed, and Draco didn't need to hear more to realise that Myrtle had been right – he was needed.

He stood from the chair, willed his knees to carry his weight reliably, and went to open the door. He did so just in time to see Voldemort come round the corner. He was walking at a calm pace, seemingly unconcerned, but there was a body cradled in his arms. Judging by the shock on the faces of the crowd trailing in their leader's wake, it was the first time they saw such an ocurrence.

"Draco," the Dark Lord said with expectation.

"Is… is he…" The young man gulped, wordless at the sight of his friend lying so limp. The pallor he was already used to, but the ragged clothes (even though he knew they had been arranged) and the (obviously) real streams of blood were a blow.

"Alive, but in need of a Healer. I trust your competence."

Draco nodded, and quickly stepped aside to let the Dark Lord into their bedroom. Harry was deposited with bewildering care on his own bed, and Draco immediately went to aid, seeing the boy as a rather large orb of red light.

He barely noticed the door being closed as Voldemort exited the room, as he knelt and took Harry's hands into his. He closed his eyes, and felt a part of himself he had recently learnt to discern activate. Life-force – as Edgar Bones named it – trickled through their joined palms.

"Harry?" he asked a while later.

"Hi," replied a weak but content voice. Draco rapidly opened his eyes and climbed up on the bed to look into a pair of green, twinkling eyes. Harry was smiling.

"Why? What… what happened?" Draco asked through tears of fear and relief. He was not really expecting a relevant answer.

"It…" Harry hesitated, but looking into Draco's eyes decided to continue. "It was the closest thing to absolution." Draco gasped.

The gaze was clear and it made him wonder, until he realised that with all the other ailments he had cured also Harry's myopia. Harry's eyes refocused, staring at something that wasn't in the room, something beyond Draco's vision and comprehension. This was a boy who had seen, heard, felt, tasted and desired death… someone who _understood_ death…

"Do you still want to die?" he asked in a small voice. This answer was much more important than the previous one. Harry's eyes shifted back.

"I wouldn't mind dying. But I no longer feel the active desire to." A white, cold hand reached up and smudged something wet across Draco's cheek. "Don't cry."

He frowned and huffed.

"I'm gonna cry to my heart's content."

Harry smiled again, wiped Draco's other cheek, and let his hand continue further up, tangling his fingers in loose blond hair. Draco sighed and buried his face in the bloodied, torn remains of Harry's uniform.

"You could have died."

Harry chuckled, and Draco felt the vibration within the chest beneath him. It seemed so hard, so thin and bony, and yet… alive. There was the sound of breathing, the sound of heartbeat, and now the chuckle… it fascinated him.

"That would be about the thousandth time that might have happened to me, Draco. I'm not much bothered by it anymore. Got used to it, I suppose…"

"That's… cruel."

"That's life…" Harry shifted and the same cold hand guided Draco to prop on his elbow and look into _his_ eyes. "I almost _did_ die. Dumbledore tried to kill me. _He_ protected me."

"Wha-"

"Tom protected me," Harry's voice had a strange quality – a mixture of gratefulness, awe and incredulity. Draco felt something similar, but combined with the way the Dark Lord treated Harry before, he just didn't know what to make of it. It seemed to him that either Harry messed with _everyone's_ head, or Tom Riddle had some serious issues.

Most likely both.


	20. Adoption

Chapter 20: Adoption

Hermione was running through the corridors. She didn't care the damnest least that it was forbidden – Hogwarts rules, Hogwarts students, Hogwarts _itself_ was forgotten the second the news reached her. The reality was reduced to a single question that was so much more important than the hows and whys and whens and whos… The question that was more important than grades and homework and, Hell, even more important than _war_.

There was only one person that could answer her question, and within a minute she was back in the dungeon she had just left, breathless, pounding on the office door, because she had to know before the next class of Potions – whoever the little victims were – started.

The door opened. The Potions Master gave her one look and read everything. Her anguish, her fear, her _question_. He sighed and rubbed the root of his nose in a gesture she had never seen him make before. It seemed as though… he had loosened his guard around her slightly.

"Alive," he growled simply. Listening ears would know nothing, and she understood perfectly. The cold grip released her heart.

"Unless the Headmaster finished him."

Hermione gulped. She knew it was a possibility, but… it sounded so surreal. She knew that those who refuse to admit what their senses tell them don't survive, it just… It was so hard.

"Did… did he…"

Snape stiffened as if she annoyed him (which she probably did), but answered nevertheless. Hermione wondered what in the world could have forced that smidgen of sympathy into the cold man.

"The magnitude of the Headmaster's anger suggests that he accomplished neither of his goals. As you would probably know, Miss Granger, if you recalled what I told you in class. Now be gone and stop annoying me."

Hermione nodded in thanks and smirked when he slammed the door into her face.

H-N

Harry had had the best sleep in years. He slept for thirty-four hours straight. Free of the responsibility of the ultimatum and his choice, he felt light, untroubled.

He woke up to the voice of a man who subsequently introduced himself as 'Carl', one of the three Healers who had patched him up before. Harry didn't like him much, but politely endured his examination. The result was – expectedly – that he was underweight, but otherwise perfectly healthy. Draco flashed him a smug grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. The genuine concern made Harry feel warm inside.

Carl finally stood up, wiped his sweaty hands into his robe and nodded to Draco.

"The Dark Lord has orders for you, sir. He expects you to attend breakfast."

Draco accepted the information and the courtesy with the trained mask of indifference, but once the Healer was outside, a frown appeared on his face.

"Something's wrong? Worse than usual, I mean?" Harry asked, racking his mind to figure out what made him feel so uneasy. Who knew what he had slept through… But Draco merely shook his head, and went to his bedside to search for his hair-tie. The search ended in defeat, and he conjured a new one with a sharp flick that revealed something obviously _was_ wrong.

"What is it, Draco?" Harry pressed. They gazed at each other for a short while, but nobody stood a chance against Harry unless _he_ was feeling guilty. Draco finally spoke.

"Severus is coming today."

Harry blinked.

"Snape?"

"He's bringing Granger."

"Look, I know you don't like each other-"

Draco waved his hand in dismissal.

"I don't mind Granger. She's got brains, spine, and character," he said, ignoring Harry's surprise at the acceptance of _his_ friend. "She an I had a talk a fortnight ago. I can get on with her. Trouble is…" He paced to the mirror, giving it a brief glance, to the door, and over to Harry. "Severus pissed me off. Severely. He just won't back off about you…If he says a word I swear-"

"Draco…" Harry didn't really care about Snape hating his guts anymore. It was something as a law of nature.

"No, Harry. If he's an arse, I hex him."

Harry was torn between amusement and wonder. He had no idea what he did to deserve such devotion.

"Tom wouldn't like that. It's not worth it-"

"I don't care. Even _he_ has some respect for you – trust me, Harry. He treats you better than anyone. Better than he treated my father before his blunder with disowning me… better than _Aunt Bellatrix_!"

Harry shook his head. Draco wouldn't understand. Tom had always had more respect for things than for people; he just considered Harry a thing, and that was it. Not because Harry was special. _He_ wouldn't care.

"It's not worth the trouble, Draco. Besides, if anything happens, now I'm conscious to stand up for myself."

The blond opened his mouth to argue, but Harry was faster.

"Go on. Best not to annoy Tom by being too late. Have fun."

Draco scowled.

"Oh, sure… fun."

Harry felt uneasy as he watched his friend depart, but hopeful that he would get _him_ back soon, and unharmed.

N-N

An hour later Harry was standing in front of the mirror and applying a series of Glamouries to make himself look healthier, younger, and black-haired, hoping that it would keep Hermione from worrying. He had just finished, when someone knocked.

It was not Hermione, though. It was Bill.

"Uh… hi," he said neutrally. He had looked up to Bill for a long time, and the fact that the Weasley had joined Voldemort's ranks upset him, but he didn't want anyone to know that. "Come in."

Bill took a seat on the left chair, so Harry was forced to occupy the right one, which had become 'Draco's' during the past three weeks, and that didn't add to his mood. He grabbed a spoon and buried it in his porridge.

"What brings you here?" he asked of the redhead, feeling fidgety enough to want the visit over with as soon as possible. Strangely, even though he had not seen any of the people he used to hang out with in weeks, the presence of his one-time friend upset him.

Bill didn't notice. He flashed Harry a grin and watched him stuff his mouth.

"Alright, mate. Apparently you're as cheerful in the morning as Ron."

Harry's mouth was full, so he didn't protest or alert Bill to the fact that he had been awake for more than an hour.

"I petitioned to adopt you. The Dark Lord requests your okay."

Fortunately, Harry had just swallowed – otherwise he would have choked. He gave the man a mute quizzical stare. Tom wanting his acceptance served as further evidence to support Draco's statement, but how this situation came about puzzled him. It was wrong the same way Tom calling Draco away for breakfast was wrong. It _felt_ so.

Bill didn't notice Harry's discomfort and continued to act his part of a walking bubble-gum commercial.

"Harry, the Dark Lord doesn't want you to run freely around here. He knows you'd like to… _hurt_ yourself, but he doesn't want you to-"

"And that's why he'll set someone on me – to watch my ass." He frowned. He didn't like the idea – he would much prefer to be emancipated. He had a penchant for disobeying rules, and didn't want anyone – especially not Bill, despite the man's blunders – to suffer the consequences of his trespasses.

"Correct," Bill said, still with the radiant grin. "He wants to make sure that you stay alive, and the most effective way for him to accomplish that is make it somebody's responsibility."

Harry sighed and set the spoon down.

"Bill, I'm glad you're looking out for me, but I can take care of myself," he said resolutely.

"Harry, let me take custody of you, before you end up like Malfoy-"

"Draco? What happened to Draco?!" Harry's mask of calm shattered, and the feelings of frustration, jitters, annoyance, and confusion bubbled to the surface. But the volatile substance paled in comparison to his sudden anger. Draco had been worrying for him, taking care of him, _caring for him_… to extremes he had never experienced before. Regardless of whether the feelings were real, or the result of the compulsion the Healer-Bestowed bond provided, it stirred something within Harry that had been dormant for so long that he forgot it was there. He felt back the same way.

Bill arched his eyebrows in surprise.

"You didn't know? The Lestranges adopted him."

The spoon clattered on the floor. Harry stood up.

"T-the Lestranges?" he gasped disbelievingly.

"Yeah, they're his Godparents. The Dark Lord approved as soon as they proposed it- Wait! Where are you going?"

But Harry didn't listen. He was already out, and running down the corridor.

N-S

Severus stalked into the Audience Hall, carefully schooling his features into calmness he didn't feel. First he had been forced to wait in a hallway, then to listen to the Granger woman, and in the end found out that neither Draco nor the Potter brat were even present. And the Dark Lord had to take his sweet time overseeing a delicate operation in Italy exactly today. Finally… finally…

"Severus. I did not expect to see _you_ today."

"My Lord, it appears that neither Draco nor Potter are present within the fortress, despite the pre-arranged visit of Potter's friend…" He paused, but then he decided to finish. "I think it wise to separate the boys."

He calmly withstood the crimson scrutiny, while a hunched, hooded Death Eater in front of the Dark Lord's throne nervously stepped from one feet to the other.

"Why do you think so, Severus?"

"I have a suspicion that Harry Potter is declaiming against you."

"Severus, I _know_ that Harry is fighting against me. He wouldn't harm Draco. They are 'friends'."

Severus suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. Draco being friends with Potter sounded more foolish than anything he thought the young Malfoy capable of.

"That is not what I fear, my Lord. I fear that Potter might sway Draco's loyalties."

"Your fears are groundless. Draco was given into custody of his Godmother – she will see to it that he remains focused."

Severus shivered.

"You can't mean… Bellatrix? My Lord! She's incapable of caring for a child!" Suddenly the reason why Potter wasn't in the Fort was clear.

S-N

Harry stood in front of a house. It was fairly isolated, not particularly well-cared for, and much, much smaller than the Fourtower Black Fort he was slowly becoming used to. The face was falling off in few places, and the grass on both sides of the garden path grew wildly. He didn't want to come here, ever. He had hoped he wouldn't have to.

It turned out that his hopes went once again unheard by any superhuman entity that might have spared him this occurrence. Draco didn't come back, Lestranges were nowhere to find, and according to the witnesses the 'family' had left the site earlier. Bellatrix was heard mentioning this place. He checked the plate. This was the correct site – the one he had been searching for the past three hours.

"Nigricans…"

Harry stepped out, ignoring his fatigue. He cancelled the second layer of Glamouries he was wearing, because they made him feel ridiculous, and he didn't want to pointlessly anger Tom, were _he_ to find out afterwards. However, his own anger was slowly filling him, and Harry was afraid that if he faced Bellarix now, it would explode. He didn't fancy himself a killer, but for this monster he might make an exception, especially if she had touched Draco in the meantime…

He passed through the wards as through a thick mist; they didn't even attempt to keep him out. The hall was silent. The scent of overcooked meat wafted from what he suspected to be the kitchen. Draught slammed a door shut somewhere, before Harry closed the entrance behind himself. A coarse male voice cursed upstairs.

Harry paused for a moment, but fairly certain of his destination he walked downstairs, to the basement. He was both right and lucky. The very first door was open, and the room behind it was occupied by three of the four people he had expected to encounter. Bellatrix and Rodolphus (most likely, Harry didn't know the man well enough to be sure), were standing back to him. A quick wordless, wandless 'Attonaro' cast by the enraged Tom-part of himself landed them on a heap on the floor. It sounded like one of them broke something. Harry snickered. Then his eyes strayed over to the corner.

"Draco…" he whispered and hurried over to the half-lying, half-reclining form. Part of his mind screamed and snarled expletives at the bitch that had done this, but the most important at the moment was his friend, and whether he needed immediate medical attention. The one thing that greatly helped to calm the Horcrux within him was the knowledge that as soon as Tom realises that _his_ Bella hurt _his_ Natural Healer, there would be Hell to pay. Oh, Lestranges were going to regret every glare and every strike.

"Harry…" Draco looked at him with the bewildered expression of someone who wasn't sure whether salvation was coming, or their mind played a cruel trick on them. At least he was conscious…

"How did you get here?"

"I masked myself as Tom," Harry replied absently, checking the blond with Madam Pomfrey's own adjusted Diagnostical Spell. "Your average Death Eater is an idiot, so the guards let me out easily."

"Where did you get a bit of him?" Draco questioned him with a bemused frown.

"A bit?" Harry frowned back, glanced at the Spell for results, and then it finally clicked. "Oh… There are other means of disguising than Polyjuice, Draco."

"Then what did you-"

"Shh." Harry pressed a light kiss on his temple. There were a few painful wounds, but nothing permanent, and nothing life-threatening. Even the Lestranges probably had enough brains to try and pretend to Tom that Draco wasn't lacking anything in their foster-care. "Let's get you out of here."

He reached out to help Draco stand, confident that they would make it back to the Fort without much trouble and then he could Heal all-

"Harry Potter."

The familiar smooth, cold voice made Harry straighten subconsciously.

"Oh… damn," he hissed. Instead of turning around – as he was expected to – he gripped Draco's shoulders and made him lean against his frame.

"This escapade of yours merely ascertains me that I was right in my opinion that leaving you your independence was an unwise idea."

A/N: Like it? Review!


	21. Fallibility

Chapter 21: Fallibility

Harry finally guided the two of them around, and faced the pair of flaming crimson eyes. The intensity of the glare he was subjected to threatened to truly frighten him. Snape never could look as menacing. But Harry didn't feel guilty. He had gone in search of Tom first, and Tom had departed on journey to Southern Europe. And since nobody else in the Fort would listen to him, he had no other option but to play 'Boy Hero' again.

"I was going to return," he said calmly, staring into the eyes of the Dark Lord with silent request for rationality.

"I know," Tom admitted after a while. "And that sole intention would save your guardian the death… but I believe that a few Crucios they would be subjected to might motivate you not to run away again." So much for rationality. It was Tom's mistake that caused such situation to come about – Harry was merely trying to prevent any fatal eventualities.

"Mr Weasley came to me with a proposal."

Harry sighed. As if that was his cue, Bill emerged from the stairs, and gave Harry a mock-reproachful gaze. The boy forbade himself to roll his eyes.

"Bill-"

"Harry-"

"Let me speak!" he snapped. The anger finally boiled over. "Bill, you are an adult person! You should learn to shut up to save your neck! I was trying to make you listen to me – but no, your typical Gryffindor arrogance was louder."

Draco squirmed, and Harry felt a warm hand touch the spot between his shoulder blades. The redhead, naturally, _didn't_ listen.

"Harry-"

Harry growled, but seeing the Weasley's stubborn expression, he gave up.

"I'm washing my hands. If you die because of something I _had_ to do, it's your fault."

Bill blinked, for the first time noting something to be out of ordinary with the 'Boy Who Lived'.

"Harry?" he asked, confused. He was suddenly strongly reminiscent of a younger Ron. Draco smirked and spoke.

"That's Tom's residue formulating Harry's thought, Weasley. I dare say you sank yourself into some _deep shit_." The blond chuckled weakly. Harry knew _he_ was hurting, but at the same time was glad that _he_ felt like joking.

"Draco," Tom attempted to chastise the young man. It was a wrong move – Draco was still very much aware that it was the Dark Lord who had landed him in this position, the Dark Lord who didn't give him the chance to protest, the very Dark Lord, who didn't discern the bloodlust and spite that drove Bellatrix into taking custody of her nephew.

"I _apologise_, my Lord. I'm afraid I'm _not thinking straight_."

Tom's forehead creased, and Harry saw the residual rationality creep out.

"Yesss, child…" he hissed. "I am mossst dissspleasssed…" Draco cringed in the anticipation of Cruciatus, "…with my Lieutenants. _Crucio_." Bellatrix woke up screaming, trashing on the floor. Harry watched with a spark of sadistic – no doubt _Tom_-induced – interest.

Draco looked in that direction… and had to close his eyes immediately. His instincts were screaming at him, but he forced himself not to listen. His Aunt wasn't worthy of being his next Bestowed.

He felt a cold hand on his forehead.

"_Crucio_," repeated the Dark Lord and Bellatrix felt slack, whereas Rodolphus started screaming instead.

"Come on, Draco. Lets get you back to the fortress."

Draco gulped.

"I…"

"Shh."

They were already at the door, when the Dark Lord released the curse and turned to them.

"Stop."

Harry – suicidal idiot! – ignored him.

"Potter, you take one more step and I'll make sure Weasley will begin to regret his decision right now." Harry halted, and then slowly turned around, trying to make the move demand as little of Draco as possible.

"And what exactly makes you think I'm interested?" he snarled. "I tried to protect him – he hindered me. I-"

Voldemort smirked. The smirk, combined with the causuality as _he_ argued with Harry, Draco unexpectedly saw a Slytherin in the Dark Lord. Perhaps, once upon a time, a young Tom Riddle was someone Draco Malfoy might have related to.

"I know you."

Harry shrugged his free shoulder and tonelessly pronounced: "Fuck."

The Dark Lord scoffed, but the sound _bordered_ on a chuckle.

"I want to speak to you… tomorrow. For now, be aware that I accepted Weasley's offer to take custody of you. I need to be able to Crucio someone when you decide to not obey me again, don't I?"

"You're a sick- damn…" Harry's shoulders sagged, and Draco suddenly realised that they were supporting each other. How did Harry presume that they would transport themselves to the Fort, he had no idea.

"I see you understand your position."

Harry's eyes travelled to the eldest Weasley son. His brows furrowed, but he bit his tongue to avoid voicing another insult – which would this time cause the idiotic redhead to suffer under a pain curse.

"Yeah… Yeah, I understand."

The Dark Lord nodded, but, strangely, Draco detected no sense of accomplishment from the wizard.

"Perfect."

"My Lord-"

"Bill, don't you think you've messed up enough?" Harry asked softly. The redhead ignored him.

"William."

"My Lord, I would like to offer to adopt Draco Malfoy, too."

Harry jerked, and Draco ignored the pain in his wrist in favour of clutching his shoulder.

"Let me go, Draco, I'll kill him and we'll be free again," he muttered, shaking.

"You wouldn't do that," Draco objected. "That's _Tom_ speaking. You wouldn't be able to."

"Why-"

The blond shook his head, and watched as Harry once again sagged.

"We'll deal with it."

Harry sniggered weakly and looked into the pair of narrowed grey eyes. They nodded to each other with mutual comprehension.

"Yeah. It's going to be alright."

They traded wry smiles. The Dark Lord had been apparently watching their interaction; he wordlessly bound the two Lestranges, and commanded the Weasley to come out of the shadows.

"That is an unexpected proposition. Would your wife accept that?"

"They're _married_?!" Harry exclaimed, ignored by everyone but Draco, who mirrored his puzzled expression. He had had no idea.

"Of course, my Lord," the Weasley replied, somewhat surprised by the question. Harry's and Voldemort's reactions cofirmed Draco's suspicion – that _flaming idiot_ had just pulled Fleur down with him.

"Then I approve," the Dark Lord replied with barely-concealed humour.

Draco gently patted Harry's shoulder.

"I take it back. He _is_ an idiot… I can't believe he dragged Fleur into it."

His friend glanced at him, looking incredibly old with grey hair and too many wrinkles.

"That's what I was saying all the time, Draco. He doesn't understand."

Draco's eyes widened.

"You mean he doesn't know…" That if either of them decided not to fight against the Light, it would cost Fleur her life?

Harry shook his head ruefully.

"Fuck."

D-N

The Dark Lord strode out of the Nigricans. Ever since he saw the state young Draco was in, the anger within him kept steadily rising. No matter how much Bellatrix and Rodolphus suffered, no matter how much Rabastan – brought into the basement by William a while later – scraped, and grovelled and pleaded and _screamed_, the persistent emotion wouldn't go away. He hated being controlled, and this controlled him.

It made him feel dangerous things, like _gratefulness_ to Potter, and self-doubt, and… better stop there. If there were a more powerful Legilimens' in the neighbourhood, they would have noticed what went on inside his head, and that would be the end.

His mood sank further when he came face to face with Lucius, who was just about to cross the wards. This Malfoy had nothing to do there – and if he were truthful with himself he would have admitted that _no_ Malfoy should have been there – and Tom definitely didn't want to see that arrogant aristocratic visage today.

"Lucius," he said evenly. The blond scraped to bow, but failed to kneel. The garden path was dusty and Malfoy's robe expensive, but it served to cement Tom's conviction that something fatal should befall the man. Preferably soon.

"My Lorrrd…"

And the deformation caused by Azkaban made Tom's long-since-abandoned instincts scream bloody murder. Lucius Malfoy was never to be trusted, but this was new – this was something that might hinder the Dark Lord's plans and the cause.

"What leads you to this site?" Tom asked, knowing perfectly that it was what Lucius wanted to ask of him. The Death Eater squirmed.

"Bellatrrrix was as kind to invite me forrr tea, my Lorrrd."

"Was she? And Narcissa could not come? I hope she is well?"

Lucius gulped.

"Well, my Lorrrd. She admits to missing herrr- missing Drrraco." This, Tom could believe. But he had a hunch as to what drew his once right-hand man to Nigricans, and a short glance into the slightly too-wide grey eyes ascertained his suspicion. Things did not bode well for this Malfoy.

"Bellatrix might appreciate your assistance, Lucius, though I expect she is not in the state to act as a hostess this afternoon. That is all."

He strode away from the man, rather glad he had dismissed William before his arrival. The day had been bad enough as it was, and it was not ending yet.

N-H

When the gate opened, Hermione jumped to her feet. It wasn't the best idea, because both her legs were asleep from the long wait. She had gone through a lot of different states of mind: mad at Harry, mad at Voldemort, and then mad at Snape to the point of shouting at him for being an insensitive brute. By this time she was merely worried, which was rather routine for anyone around Harry.

Two boys leaning on each other half-stumbled, half-stepped inside. She was suddenly glad that her fit of temper drove Snape away, because Malfoy obviously wasn't in a state to listen to Harry-bashing, which would have necessarily occurred.

"What happened?"

Harry glanced at her and smiled. Hermione gulped – this wasn't the sixteen-years-old boy who had fled Hogwarts three weeks ago. This… person had a face that was decades older, and grizzled hair. She was temporarily stunned – wordless, staring. Harry's smile widened as he spoke.

"The boss of this place let the Lestranges adopt Draco, and now we're in trouble because I had to pull a 'Boy Who Lived' to get Dray out of the place before he was flawed."

"_Dray_?!" exclaimed the blond in outrage. Hermione ignored him, filing the information away for later conversation and settling for berating who she finally decided was indeed her friend.

"Harry, sarcasm doesn't sound good from you." Which wasn't true. Sarcasm fit with the emaciated frame and aged face perfectly.

"That wasn't sarcasm, Mione," Harry replied benignly and led Malfoy towards the staircase. She rushed over to support them from Harry's side, still not feeling close enough to the Slytherin to put her arm around his shoulders.

"Oh, sure-"

"Trust him, Granger," Malfoy interposed with a _sarcastic_ smirk. "This was _not_ sarcasm." She looked into the grey eyes, for sincerity. It was there. She gasped.

"Oh, my… you _do_ attract trouble, Harry, don't you?"

Malfoy grinned, then stepped wrong and screwed his face in pain. Harry barely caught him and Hermione gripped the railing to keep all three of them from falling.

"That was an understatement, if I ever heard one," the blond muttered through gritted teeth.

"Enough, guys," Harry cut in. "Draco, I know it hurts. It won't be long now. Mione, kindly hush for a moment and wait till I get my brother into shape."

"_Brother_?!"

The boys traded an uncertain glance. Harry shrugged.

"We weren't given much choice. But I don't really mind."

The girl lifted her hands in helpless surrender.

"Better than if you two were sleeping together, I suppose…"

They skidded to a halt at the same time and she lost her grip on Harry, taking two more steps forward. She spun to receive two identical awestruck glares.

"_Hermione Granger_!"

She put her hands on her hips and glared back.

"What? D'you think I'm blind?"

"She's bonkers," muttered Malfoy.

"Yeah."

Hermione followed them on their quest upstairs. She knew where they were headed, and understood their desire to get there as soon as possible, but that didn't give them an excuse to be so curt.

"Harry Potter, I've been waiting for you here for the past three hours, be so kind and give me a while of your time."

Harry opened the door to their bedroom and maneuvered the two of them inside. When she stepped in, he was helping Malfoy sit on _his_ bed.

"I'm sorry, Mione," he said, raising his wand and trailing its tip past Malfoy's hand, wrist, forearm and elbow. She couldn't help but notice that the blond's face lost some of the strain.

"This was just… more pressing. Still is."

Hermione sighed.

"I know. You can't stand seeing people suffer, right?" Malfoy smirked at her over Harry's head. He was right. It _was_ a redundant question. "Well then, lets get to it. I might as well help you."

H-N

Harry was sitting on the cold tile of the hall's floor. The corner he had found for himself was behind Tom's throne and so shadowed, that only those with the sharpest eyes could see him huddled there. Perhaps half an hour ago, when a clock somewhere in the vicinity struck midnight, he had closed his eyes, and just listened.

This room was a rather interesting place to be, whether something was happening or not. This time there was no particular meeting, only several small and little relevant auditions, and Harry's mind drifted from presence to the recent past, mainly focusing on Draco. Mione had to return shortly after they had put Draco to sleep, and he let her go before Snape came to retrieve her. He didn't feel like seeing the Potions Master today.

He was brought out of his reminiscence when the Dark Lord sent everyone away and the handful of last Death Eaters scrambled to leave as fast as their legs carried them to escape Voldemort's irritation. The fires went out. In the semi-darkness and silence following the crash of the gates being shut, Tom laid back against the wood behind him, and called for Nagini. The snake didn't respond.

"I know I ordered you to come and speak with me today, but I didn't mean _so_ _early _today."

Tom sounded tired. It had been a long day, for both of them and many other people. It was the highest time to go to sleep, and Harry had no idea what it was that kept them still in the room. He didn't want to talk. He wanted to seeth for a while, sleep on it, and start another day with a big, cheerful, fake smile.

But that was an illusion, and the darkened room, cold stone, quiet, and exhausted Dark Lord with an army of inner demons dancing in circles around both of them were _real_.

"You didn't know, did you?" Harry asked quietly.

"I didn't."

He stood up, walked into the starlit part of the hall and approached the throne, eventually leaning forward and resting his elbows on the backrest. Tom was tall; the throne obscured him whole but for the top of his skull. Harry followed the line of his gaze and stared into the darkness.

"He's going to be alright."

"Only because you went after him." There was a certain thoughtful quality in his voice, and for a while it sounded as though the Dark Lord was experiencing an onslaught of his own humanity. He, too, was fallible, and not entirely without emotions, though Harry doubted there was any way to revive his conscience.

"How is it, Harry, that you know my followers so much better than I do?"

"Tom, I know _people_ better than you do. You see them as tools – perfectly predictable. But they're not…" Harry's eyes prickled. "They're not," he repeated under his breath.

Tom faced around in his seat, almost _gently_ pulled the boy closer, and cupped _his_ face.

"Someone hurt you," he _stated_ with a mixture of wrath and – maybe – regret.

Harry scoffed.

"A lot of people hurt me. _You_ hurt me. It never matters." He knelt, laying his palms on the arm-rest on that side, and looked up at the Dark Lord. "Tom, people are bound to act irrationally. Bellatrix is insane. She has no children. Did you ever care to think about why?" Obviously not. "Because she slaughters every being she has any modicum of control over. You handed her a doll, and she does not dress her dolls. She destroys them."

The wizard frowned; his crimson eyes darkened.

"Am I so limited?" It was the first time ever Tom sounded not quite self-assured. Harry thought he might have heard a hint of fear in the question… it shocked him, and confused him… Why would the Dark Lord bare his weakness in front of his archenemy?

Then he took in the entire scene and shook his head. They must have been the weirdest set of archenemies ever.

"There is a great part of the world you never noticed. The one that makes life worth living. You were so focused on power itself… but power never did and never will make you happy."

Tom smoothed Harry's hair out of his face and played with a stray lock for a moment before pushing it behind _his_ ear. The touch still hurt, but the boy refused to be conquered by pain.

"You're not exactly happy yourself."

Harry laughed quietly. It was a dry laugh, harsh and unforgiving.

"I sought happiness, I _craved_ it… but it was banned. I was shown what I could have, and then it was taken from me. That's enough to drive one insane."

"You're not insane. I am."

"Oh, but we can never be sure. Maybe you are the sane one, and the rest of the world is gone bonkers? It would make sense… in a way, you're doing things logically. The rest of the world is… well, illogical. Doesn't that translate as insane?"

Tom retracted his hand, scowled again, and turned away. The expression – Harry noticed – ironically made him seem less reptilian.

"I spoke to you to clear my confusion-"

"And I only confused you worse." Harry stood up and set out on the way back to the bedroom. "But then again, does it surprise you? It's only words, Tom. They mean nothing. Or very little." He rubbed his forehead. "Except that they're enough to change the world…"

"You were right," Tom replied coldly. "You are not sane."

"I just… I just want to die, Tom. That's all. Just let me die, and-"

"No."

Harry sighed and hung his head.

"Goodnight, Tom."

N-N

Harry stood in front of the mirror, gazing into the eyes of his reflection. They used to be malachite - like a stone so polished that it shone, but dead within. Now they were the colour of leaves, perhaps not so radiant anymore, but there was life behind them. He wondered where it came from.

It hit him after he parted from Tom at night; upon returning to the bedroom and falling on his bed, the scene repeated itself in his mind over and over, no matter how much he had wished to just sleep. Yesterday had been a strenuous day…

'It' – the reason why he was once again staring at Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, was that something inside him shifted when he hung on the cross. He was _sure_ he was going to die. _Once again_, it did not work out. He felt different. Most importantly, after telling Tom that he wanted to die, he realised it was not the truth.

He wanted… something. He didn't know what, but not death. And the uncertainty and confusion was the irrational moment of life he had lacked before. He briefly glanced at the Boy Who Lived and smirked.

Since Friday, Harry Potter was back. Or, perhaps, for the first time there. He would, of course, have to battle with all the other shards of himself, but now he had a _chance_. The only thing that remained was to find out whether he was, or was not sane.


	22. Revelations

Chapter 22: Revelations

"How's Harry?"

Hermione looked up from her Arithmancy essay. Ginny was gazing at her with intensity that made her squirm before she realised what she was doing. Getting a grip of herself, she set the parchment and the quill down, careful not to make any splotches, and scanned the common room for her boyfriend.

Her glare must have been really potent, because he turned to look at her seconds later, and immediately stood up, excused himself from the game of Exploding Snap, and sauntered over, comprehensibly reluctant of approaching.

"Sixth year girls' dorm. Now," Hermione hissed. Ron shivered and followed her without any attempt on objection, knowing better than to anger her further. Ginny nodded and lead the way.

Despite her mood, Hermione was feeling altruistic, so she checked whether there was anyone in the room first, and upon finding that it was occupied by Lavender, Parvati, and Padma (on her weekly Sunday unauthorised visit to Gryffindor Tower) made sure that they were decent.

"Sorry I interrupt, but could we have privacy for a while?"

Padma put her nose high in the air and was about to protest, but her twin, who had encountered an annoyed Hermione in the past hastily replied: "Sure. Come tell us when you're done…" She dragged the protesting Ravenclaw out, followed by uncharacteristically quiet Lavender.

"We won't be long!" she yelled after the trio, slammed the door shut, locked it, and for a good measure cast some advanced privacy charm.

"So?" Ginny prompted. Hermione turned her back on the girl, and faced her boyfriend.

"_Ronald Bilius Weasley!_" she didn't yell, but the coldness in her voice had been observed from Professor Sinistra and trained on troublemaking Gryffindors, so that the effect was _much_ better than yelling. "How did your sister find the information she was supposed to find in absolutely _no_ case?"

Ron seemed a bit uncertain, and Hermione had to admit that his reaction disappointed her. She _knew_ she was scarier than that, but perhaps… perhaps Ron was braver than she estimated. Or he had become used to her scary-ness. She would have to think of something new then…

"Well…" He rubbed his forehead, and she recognised the gesture as copied from Harry. It was strange, all the little marks their 'missing' friend had left behind, so minute that they never noticed them… Harry had been there and now he wasn't and they were all feeling it.

"I beat it out of him, Mione," Ginny admitted, just as brave, or just as accustomed, as her brother. Hermione found she was unable to be angry with either of them. She didn't approve, but she understood too well.

"Besides, it was pretty obvious that you knew something," the redheaded girl continued, "since you've been much less upset than the rest of the Gryffs. And that's not counting the fact that you tore of no one knows where right after you heard about Hogsmeade. So I suppose the greasy git knows more than I do, too. Come on, do tell."

"He's… being taken care of. Still attracting trouble, but so far nothing bigger than what he could deal with." There. That was a nice, diplomatic answer. Truth, but not enough of it for the Weasleys to worry.

Even though she was certain that they _did_ worry, and her vague answer didn't alleviate any of it. They seemed to read her concerns in the spaces between the words, closet Slytherins that they both were.

H-N

"This is not too early," Harry stated from his would-be inconcpicuous position (were he not wearing a _green_ robe). He had been standing there since shortly after Draco had departed for the library. Finally, the last evening report – or 'audience', as Fleur insisted on calling them – was over, and Harry decided it was time for him to speak.

"I'm not in the mood for your arrogance, Potter," Tom snarled. It was obvious that the exhaustion from the previous day was still there. Harry hated him like this. He was always amazed, _excited_, when they got along. It was, naturally, because Tom treated him like a less important part of himself, like a thing instead of like a human, but Harry was used to being treated like a thing. This was just a first time it meant the treatment was _better_.

Right now, though, he wasn't Voldemort's Horcrux. He was just Harry Potter, a nuisance that kept on living. And with the threat of Bill being tortured over his head… he better behaved.

"Yes, Lord." There was no force in the world that would make him address Tom as '_my_ Lord'. The honorific was bad enough.

Tom didn't seem to even listen, masochistically basking in the flames of his own anger, frustration and weariness he was unable to show.

"I think I will have Severus join us. It would add spice to the conversation, don't you think? And his insider information might help with planning the invasion of Hogwarts-"

The rows of windows on both sides of Harry exploded. His mind screamed 'You can't do this!' But denial was futile and he couldn't hide from the truth. The reality was harsh, and it dug its claws into him while cruelly laughing at his helplessness. He closed his eyes and clenched his fists. His bitten nails were too short to cause him pain, though he would have welcome it now.

"I gave you Dumbledore," he whispered brokenly. "I fulfilled my end of the deal. It's not my fault that he was a step ahead of you…"

He took a deep breath and did the thing he had once promised himself never to do. At least not willingly. But this was not the time for his long since abandoned pride to re-emerge.

Harry knelt.

Tom was _visibly_ shocked by the action. Harry was guided by survival instincts now, but _his_ instincts were trying to ensure the survival of the students in Hogwarts, not himself. He felt a sting of regret when he thought of Draco, but then there was emptiness, and he lost himself in the red glow of the Dark Lord's stare. He was barer than if he were naked. Giving up not only his life, but all that he was, for people who would never be grateful for the sacrifice.

But that was how the world was. How life was. How _Harry_ was.

"Do you think he was warned?" Tom asked after a while. It was like waking up from trance. Harry started breathing, smelling, hearing, tasting, thinking… hurting. He realised that though he never stopped looking, he missed when Tom stood up and crossed the distance between them. _He_ didn't even bother to try and conceal the marvel. Harry had no idea what he did that seemed so interesting to the Dark Lord, but something must have been there, and it drove away the emotional turmoil and brought back reason.

"No," the boy said without hesitation. "He doesn't need a warning to carry an emergency Portkey with him _everywhere_."

There was the feeling of hot wax on his skin as Tom touched his face. The pain never truly went away, but now Harry concentrated on it more… cherished it.

"True…" the Dark Lord agreed, and coldly added: "The deal is still valid."

"What?!"

The hand went away and Voldemort berated himself for the lack of control. He never meant to touch the _thing_.

"Give me a way to destroy Dumbledore, or I'll destroy your precious school."

The game of cat and mouse wasn't enjoyable when the damnable rodent holed itself up in a too-well warded castle. And his spy had no way of smuggling a few Death Eaters inside – he knew so much. Hogwarts' defense was _perfect_. Not that he would tell that to Harry. The boy's reactions, and the part he was taking in the planning was fascinating to observe. He couldn't grasp why Severus hated this animated doll so much.

Thinking of Severus… A wave of his wand opened one wing of the gate. A stiff, ever-scowling Potions Master crossed the threshold and approached at steady pace. Harry appeared to remain oblivious to the happenings.

Tom looked down into the shadowed green eyes.

"Are you trying to persuade Draco to fight me?"

"Me?" Harry shook his head at the absurdity of the accusation. As though he had ever atempted to infringe on _anyone's_ will. "No… I believe Draco is an independent personality, an _adult_, who can choose his master himself. I have no interest in forcing or manipulating him into _anything_."

"Do you see, Severus?"

Harry shot up to his feet and whirled around. His breathing quickened rapidly as he gaped at the Professor who tormented him for years, and now that he wasn't able to continue with that hobby, he tormented others using Harry as a tool.

"My Lord," Snape snarled, spite virtually dripping off every word, "you can't believe Potter! That little bastard was lying ever since he learnt to speak-"

That was _enough_.

"How would you know, Snape?" Harry was so glad Draco wasn't there to hear this. "Were you there? Was _anybody_ there?" When he was beaten. Starved. Locked in the cupboard under the stairs. Told he was freak and repeated until he believed it. Ridiculed. Hated. Worshipped. Manipulated-

"Harry-"

The Dark Lord voice penetrated the haze Harry had sunk into, and the boy fought his way to clarity. There he was, in the Fourtower Black Fort. He had his own bed, in a large, luxurious room he shared with a man he had come to see as a friend. He got as much food as he wanted, and nobody was allowed to beat him.

What a strange place.

He turned around and spotted Snape suspended in the air, with Tom's wandtip _just_ touching his Adam's apple. The Dark Lord was burning with cold anger, the intelligent kind of anger that expressed itself through thought-out actions that in the long run brought much more pain and destruction than a few bouts of Cruciatus unleashed on the few nearest minions.

"No, Tom, don't kill him," the part of Harry that empathised said with a small smile. "He's useful."

"My Lord?!" Snape asked, and Harry/Tom drunk in the teacher's fear. It was delectable.

N-S

"Come here, Harry," the Dark Lord ordered. The boy obeyed, and walked up to the throne, stopping a step under it. The Dark Lord leant forward and brought up his hand, but from his position, hanging in the midair, Severus couldn't see anything clearly. He wondered why he wasn't under the Cruciatus Curse yet, and why the spell that held him in place didn't cause him any greater discomfort.

"I can give him to you if you want." If Potter were a Death Eater, the statement would have made sense, and it would have frightened Severus. He knew of many 'faithless' that have been 'given' to those 'faithful' as a reward, or a token. But Potter was most definitely _not_ a Death Eater… It frightened Severus nevertheless.

Potter shook his head.

"No, Tom. You already tried that, and it didn't work out. I'm not a killer."

"I noticed. But if you change your mind, do ask for him."

"If I change my mind," Harry concurred. The Dark Lord accepted that with a grimace, and turned to _his_ stunned Potions Master.

"You are dismissed."


	23. Footing

Chapter 23: Footing

Minutes after his abrupt dismissal, Severus's heartbeat was slowing back to normal. Nine evenly said words from the Dark Lord had just turned half of his life upside down. They carried the same message as Draco's threats and insults, but backed with more power. So much power, in fact, that Severus immediately decided to stay away from the Potter boy unless his assignments wouldn't allow it.

"Damn it to Tartaros," he hissed. He didn't recognise the corridor he was in. He had never been there before. In his internal turmoil after leaving the hall, he ceded paying attention to his surroundings and got lost.

Thinking back, the staircase he had climbed last was too narrow, and the railing too intricate. Nothing like the main part of the Fort – like the places ordinary Death Eaters were allowed to frequent. He must have taken a wrong turn somewhere… damn Potter! This was all the brat's fault! The little whelp had no right to stand so high in the hierarchy! He was supposed to be polishing their shoes, or cleaning the lavatories, or…

Sound of quiet footsteps wrenched him out of his thoughts. He didn't have permission to be there. If somebody found him… he might be in a lot of trouble. For the second time that day… It did not bode well for him.

But there were no doors in the corridor, and the artefacts hung on the walls – weapons, magical object, trophies and torch-holders (he noted the lack of portraits) – conveyed no hiding place. Not that Severus was thinking of hiding. No. He thought that there was nothing he feared, but there muct have been something. Something that got under his skin. He hated it, just as he hated what it was turning him into. _Snivellus_.

He braced himself and tried to forget that he was feeling as small as a Hufflepuff first-year.

S-N

Once Snape was out, the Dark Lord let the smirk surface, shattering the unnatural grimace. Harry/Tom chuckled when the gate closed behind the poor fool. The kind, loving part of himself sympathised, but not enough to feel ashamed. The cold side cheered at a first hint of vengeance. Besides, tormenting the poor fools was so much fun…

He frowned. Perhaps not so much. Still, it was one of the things that Tom could do with style when he found it in himself to be creative.

"That was one way to teach about the balance of power, Tom," he remarked, gazing at the mess of shattered glass he had made. The Horcrux in him agreed, and thousands of tiny shards lifted themselves from the floor, flew high into the air, and the newly repaired windowpanes snugly fit into their frames, making soft liquidy sounds. So the Dark Lord was capable of creation, after all. Not everything he did was destructive…

"Though I still have no idea how did I become so important to you," Harry mused. "Other than being a decoy for luring out Dumbledore, of course."

"When you didn't die on Samhain, fifteen years ago, you became what you are. The how of that occurrence remains a mystery to this day-"

"Maybe I did die that night, Tom," Harry suggested, staring into red eyes with something akin to challenge. "Maybe I am… reanimated. That would make your Horcrux a corpse, wouldn't it?"

"You cannot be reanimated. You wouldn't have grown."

"Ah, but perhaps I would. You know little to nothing about the Light Arts, Tom. They are just as nasty as the Dark ones."

"How would you know?"

"I was subjected to them." His fists clenched on their own accord, as he remembered the 'training' with Headmaster. He thought he was going to learn how to fight, how to lead people. Dumbledore had promised that he was going to 'help the war effort'.

And Dumbledore _did_ _try_ to keep that promise. Through a series of rituals he ascertained that Harry indeed _was_ a Horcrux, and then…

"They hurt," he offered.

Tom blew up.

"So I _was_ right! Dumbledore harmed you! Dumbledore damaged what's mine!" The indignation on Harry's behalf reminded him of Hermione. It was irregular, and totally wrong, but it made something within Harry flutter and thus remind of itself. It was not gratefulness – there was nothing to be grateful for. It was also not regret, because regret was pointless, unless it taught a lesson. It puzzled the young man, and made him feel a queasy mixture of hope and fear. It was almost as though he were alive. The second sign he had observed within days.

Tom, due to the lack of thugs to Crucio, calmed down, and returned to the previous topic of the conversation, though Harry didn't doubt the information he had revealed was filed away in the genius mind, merely waiting to be put to use at a more appropriate moment.

"Do _you_ think you died that night?" That was a question long since asked and answered.

"No. I think the only process that happened then was a little soul-exchange."

The Dark Lord settled back in his throne, and laced his fingers. Harry's eyes were drawn to the pale, prolognated hands, and he found it surprising that Tom wore no rings. To wear no jewellery somehow clashed with the picture of a powerful Dark Lord. But, as far as Harry knew, Tom wore none.

His eyes strayed from the fingers to the expression of glee on the wizard's face. As always, the lack of catharsis by torturing people had to manifest somewhere. Tom was going to be cruel again.

But a cruel Voldemort was something Harry could deal with better than the pseudo-caring Tom.

N-S

The person the footsteps belonged to rounded a corner and Severus froze. He was staring at Draco Malfoy.

The young man was clad in customary Death Eater robes, with his hood pulled back and revealing the shiny halo of his pale hair. The colour was different in the torch-light, so much that Severus barely registered the hair was messed-up (as though Draco didn't care so much about his appearance) and a part of it was pulled back in a starter of a pony-tail. It looked… fetching.

Draco didn't notice him at first and took about three more steps into the corridor, slower than he would, were he not carrying a load of books in his arms. There was an air of studiousness around him… Then he looked up and noticed Severus standing there. He stopped in his tracks and straightened slightly, ignoring the tomes pulling him to the ground. In precisely that moment Severus received the answer to his questions. It came as a lightning bolt down from clear sky, and slammed into him with the force of a pair of Bludgers.

"What are you doing _here_?" the blond asked calmly, but the trepidation was visible in his eyes. Severus felt he was going to vomit. He swallowed.

"I…" …got lost. He should really say it aloud, before the young man in front of him fled to alert authorities. He shoud say something… anything… well, not _anything_.

Grey eyes were looking at him with anticipation, and Severus registeres bruises mapping Draco's collarbone, and a long, thin scratch on his left hand, and bandages on knuckles of the same hand. Rage within him swelled.

"What happened to you?" That was what he wanted to ask ever since the Dark Lord yesterday gave him the order to immediately return to Hogwarts. Well, he wanted to inquire about the state of Draco's health, but that question would not have been listened to. In fact, he should consider himself lucky if Draco listened to him at all, judging by their past encounters.

"Funny you should ask that, _sir_. Funny you should answer my question with another question." The blond adjusted the books and strode forwards, ignoring the little sparks that sprung on the tips of his fingers. Severus had to consciously stop himself from backing away.

Draco halted a scarce foot in front of him, and the Potions Master's breathing hitched. The young man faced him with calm defiance.

"Would you mind terribly stepping to the side, _sir_? I wish to go _home_, and you are standing in my way."

Severus too a deep breath and inwardly snarled at himself for being an idiot.

"Draco-"

"_Sir_."

The pair of cold, grey eyes conveyed the message clearly. In their new footing Draco did not ask or request. Draco _ordered_. And Severus would obey. He hated it so much, not because he had to obey (he was used to that), not because it was a sixteen-year-old, or Draco Malfoy… he hated it, because of the cold in the young man's eyes.

"I wanted to apologise, Draco," he said quietly, held the blond's scrutiny for a moment, and then did as he was _ordered_.

Draco all but fled.


	24. Gravity Centre

A/N: The following chapter contains disturbing views on world and life. It might make you think, but I advise you to follow Harry's advice and _not do so_. Except for this one instance do _not_ believe Harry! He is unhappy and sharing his beliefs would make _you_ unhappy!  
I felt it to be my obligation to warn you.  
Also, as you have probably already found out, I leave it up to you to recognise whether Harry or 'Harry/Tom' is speaking. It is not so important, after all. Mostly (there are instances where it is clearly stated) I just call him/them Harry. Also, they are not completely separated personalities. They resemble two extreme moods of one personality, but provide two independent points of view, which makes Harry cleverer in some ways.  
Finally, I want to add that I absolutely lov this chapter. I think it's one of the best ones.  
That stated, enjoy and review!  
Brynn

Chapter 24: Gravity Centre

"Tell me something, Harry. What is it like, the horrors of yours and my childhood combined?"

Harry attemted to appear nonchalant, but he had the feeling that he failed sorely. His so called 'childhood' was one of the memories he didn't enjoy returning to. Tom knew, and precisely that was why he brought up the topic. Harry suspected that for some reason Tom hurt, and, as a typical Slytherin, he lashed out at those around him. He wanted to make others hurt, too, so he could feel better about himself.

"Most of the time not worse then a mental Cruciatus," he replied simply, waved his hand, and sat into the newly-conjured armchair. It was blue, low and soft, and he leant back, cherishing the support it provided. "It depends on the current mood and the amount of recently-consumed alcohol."

That seemed to catch the Dark Lord's attention.

"Before you came here, were you an alcoholic?"

"Before I came here?" Harry quired his eyebrows. "I do not recall 'coming' here, Tom. But no, actually. I wish, though."

"Do you?"

He closed his eyes. In the past years he had snuck into the dormitories alcohol from the Hog's Head (but never too much, since the place was monitored by members of the Dumbledore family), got some as presents from Fred and George, and even went as far as try conjuring some during a depression. He even sampled worse things than alcohol: anything that allowed him to fly without a broom. Because only when he flew he felt free.

"Getting drugs within Hogwarts is not easy… when you are the ultimate representation of the Light." He was quite sure the Slytherins had an entire net of distribution, with the older years acting as dealers. "I tried a few potions – I had to brew those myself, which was risky on its own – but they can't be used in more excessive amounts lest they kill."

"I was under the impression that you wouldn't much care."

"Oh, I would." At first. "But then this _friendly_ Horcrux of yours came forth and everything gained a slightly different perspective."

Harry was already used to these sudden changes in the Dark Lord's demeanor. They occurred only when there was no one but the two of them around and their conversation stumbled upon a topic Tom found interesting. Harry privately called this the 'sciencist-Tom' ever since he had revealed himself as Horcrux. He sort of liked the _man_ when he acted like this – he resembled all Hermione, Snape and Draco, but with a furore nascent of his insanity. The passion was… _captivating_, Harry would call it.

"It would."

Tom as a sciencist was anything but modest. He was smug about his accomplishments – Harry admitted that he did have a reason to be, but the attitude was oftentimes hard to put up with.

"Not all that much. I knew Dumbledore was wary of me." Harry let his head fall back, leaning on the backrest. "I saw how my presence was exhausting my friends… with your desire to see me dead and my own reluctance to keep up with all the shit, a suicide was a way to make everyone a favour." Apart from it being the single one thing he could do for himself. The sole act of selfishness.

"It didn't work out too well," Tom voiced Harry's next thought. They, indeed, must have been the weirdest archenemies. Harry hid a grin and shrugged. The enviroment demanded vigilance, but the armchair was making him feel relaxed. Mad-Eye Moody would have a coronary seeing him like that in front of 'He Who Absolutely _Must Not_ Be Named'. But he was kind of content being where he was – living wih Draco Malfoy in the Fourtower Black Fort. Sure, he missed his friends, but with them was gone also a part of the suffocating pressure. He didn't have to be _the_ Gryffindor here.

"Well, I did not expect that Hermione would do anything – she's got Ron, Ginny, the rest of the Weasleys and her parents. I didn't think she would want me to bother her for the rest of her life… And I still don't know who it was that put potions in Snape's and Draco's drinks. It is not much Hermione's style."

Tom didn't appear to be listening to him. Of course, the mention of Harry's friends was a strong deterrent, but he didn't even notice when Harry stopped speaking, which meant he was far away in his thoughts.

Therefore the next question the Dark Lord asked surprised the boy.

"Was this all…" he gestured at Harry, but meant the entire situation they two, the higher-ranking Death Eaters and Harry's abandoned friends were in, "…all just a ploy of Dumbledore's?"

As if Harry was privy to such information. Dumbledore was an unknown – always had been and always would be. Most people thought him omniescent, but that was not true. Harry and Tom both knew him as ruthless, shrewd, cunning fighter, but what he _truly_ fought for remained a mystery to them. Harry considered Dumbledore a Light Lord with a liking for the front of democracy disguising the thearchy he lead.

But Harry was just a human, and he couldn't very well believe in _himself_. There were inordinary things about him, but such were about many individuals, and it made neither of them Gods. And the one thing pain taught him was scepticism – he didn't believe in anything. No deities, not destiny, not _prophecies_. As a combination of two minds of which at least one was genius (and the second was not stupid either!), he understood and saw through more.

"No. I don't believe this was staged. It is as it is, because life goes on in strange ways. No one planned this. It resulted."

"Resulted?"

Harry ran his hand through his hair. It was weird enough when he could follow Tom's line of thinking, but having Tom struggle to follow his own seemed… surreal.

"Yeah. Resulted of the precise combination of choices the people – all the people – made." He smirked. "Even Muggles. And Muggle-borns. And-"

"Why?" Tom cut in, accepting the new perspective in theory, but unwilling to let it clash with his view. "Because of the Prophecy?"

"You just don't get it, Tom." Harry shook his head. "It was not 'meant to be'. It all just happened. If you did one thing differently, we probably wouldn't be here today."

"That is not too reassuring."

"It depends on what you want to be reassured about."

A quit thump somewhere close swayed their attention away from the conversation. The Dark Lord hissed, and the password-protected door in the wall behind his throne opened. A large snake slithered into the hall, tasting the air and eventually coiling around the trone. It scrutinised Harry with interest which the boy returned. He had not seen Nagini in weeks. Either she preferred to stay out of sight, or she had not been in the Fort.

"_Interesssting_," Tom stated. "_It ssseemsss that Dumbledore hasss another one. We mussst act quickly. Thisss hasss to end_." Harry wasn't sure whether Voldemort was speaking to him, or to the snake. He did not ask, and neither did he inquire about the 'another one'. So another Horcrux was destroyed, or soon to be destroyed. Tom did no seem troubled about it, as if he did not care. That puzzled Harry, especially since he saw and _knew_ (he _did_ have Tom in his head) how important he was to the Dark Lord – as an artefact, of course.

"That is what I wanted to be reassured about," Tom said, referring to both the current and the previous topic. "Philosophy is a kind of love, and there is no room for love in the Dark Order."

"_I do love you, Massster…_" Nagini interposed, sounding hurt. Harry smiled.

"_But you do not let that hinder you in any way_," Tom replied easily, scowling as he saw Harry's expression.

"_Love… Isss it real at all?_" Harry asked."_It isss jussst a word, Tom. There isss no reassson to be repulsssed._"

Nagini hissed something too quiet for him to understand and the Dark Lord nodded to her and tapped his cheekbone where it was jutting out. The action attracted Harry's stare to the spot. Tom let himself slip into another contemplation, which, for someone who didn't approve of philosophy, happened to him a bit too often.

Harry in the meantime engaged in a staring contest with Nagini. He virtually felt as the 'Harry' part of him sunk and the 'Tom' part rose to the surface. It was a rare occurrence when he could observe the switch. To his mild surprise it was not uncomfortable at all, apart from the change of pigmentation in his iris – that felt as though a vein had broken there. It burnt a bit.

When Tom finally returned to the present, he was face to face with 'himself'.

"Your theory does not incorporate the existence of familiars. Or soulmates."

Harry/Tom sniggered.

"Oh, do not be incongruous. No such things as soulmates exists. It is a fairy-tale. A model of a standard family – so that people actualy want to live in matrimony, and do not stray into different patterns – homosexuality, a group of three or more living together, single parents… are undesired. The idol of soulmates is but a tool to shape children into the adults the society needs. Like the Boy Who Lived."

Comprehensibly, Tom did not let himself be persuaded about something that would uproot every of his axioms. It would have shattered the very touchstone of who he was and what he lived for, and Harry didn't even entertain the thought of being able to sway the Dark Lord to see the world the same way he did see it.

"Who was the Boy Who Lived? The real one. Who was it?"

Tom just didn't _understand_. For Tom, the prophecy was a fact.

"It was Santa Claus. The Prince on the White Horse. The boogeyman. You know who."

"You have a sick sense of humour," Voldemort growled with a frown. Harry knew he managed to insult him wthout even attempting to. He smiled and continued; Tom would either let it go, or come up with a punishment for him. He could not punish Bill, because he would not be able to advocate such punishment.

"Not really. It all makes sense when you picture the entire universe like a collection of answers, ultimate smallest parts, that are either light or darkness. Plus or minus. Yes or no."

"You are insane," Tom responded, and all traces of anger were gone, because punishing a babbling idiot for babbling would only cause him to babble more. However, Harry – though he might have been babbling – was not an idiot.

"No, I am not. I am too sane." He merely was not consistent. And he thought too much. He had contemplated sanity as such _and_ in referrence to himself and Tom after their last clash. "I am _so_ sane, that something as irrational as life doesn't work for me anymore."

"_May I eat him?_" Nagini asked, probably prompted by whatever emotions she smelled from Tom. It was so bizzare, that Harry wished Myrtle was there as well.

"_No_," the Dark Lord shot down the suggestion. Harry smiled at him.

"I shall give you an advice, Tom. Never, _never_ try to find the point of life. Because the point of life is in _not _searching for the point of life. Alright?"

That seemed to catch the Dark Lord off guard.

"Harry?" he queried, bemused.

"No. Not really. I am… I might have been what you would call 'Tom'. Listen, Tom. You have so many memories… so much _data_ that you suffered overload, something in your head snapped, and you never worked as well as before." He tapped his temple. "Harry has so much data that he was on his way to happily do the same. But combined… such mass of information has the power to twist reality around itself. No human can withstand such force."

Sciencist-Tom was back.

"Was that the reason for Harry's 'uncontrollable surges of power'?" he questioned.

"In the beginning. It got worse. I found a way to turn it on myself. I'm going to destroy myself."

Tom's eyes flared an angry crimson.

"No."

Harry smiled.

"Do not be incongruous."

In a flash, Tom stood up from the throne, appeared in front of Harry and pull him up from the chair by his hair.

"_No_."

Weird. Why wasn't the Dark Lord bothered by loss of one Horcrux, but so vehemently protested against another one being destroyed?

"There's no way to separate us precisely, so Harry is keeping something of me - of yourself. How much can't be determined exactly. Also, a part of himself will be lost."

"No! You will _not_ harm yourself!" Seeing the defiance in Harry's red-green eyes, the Dark Lord smashed the undersized body on the floor. He cared nothing for the crack that indicated a broken bone, and nothing for the fact that the body remained lying, unmoving. He paced back to his throne and heavily sank into it.

"_May I eat him now, Massster_?"

Voldemort glared at his familiar, and willed the gates to open. The french Flower hurried inside to attend to his wishes.

"Find Draco," he snapped at the woman. "And tell him to come and clean this up."

N-D

"You're an idiot, you know that?" Draco asked, crouching next to the motionless form of Harry Potter. They were alone in the Hall, and the boy was unconscious, so he didn't really expect an answer. He also wasn't too worried – his Healer-vision of Harry was that of a small and rather dim orb.

"Yeah…" Harry responded with a crooked grin. He opened his eyes and Draco was relieved to see that they were pure green. He didn't much adore the Dark Lord's personality, and Harry acting like that was just plain creepy.

"I could let this heal naturally… If I thought there was even a scarce chance it might motivate you to be the least bit careful around the Dark Lord. Don't try to stand up just yet."

Being the stubborn git he was, Harry attempted to lift his head. He groaned and set it back on the tiling with a dull thunk.

"Idiot…" Draco repeated tonelessly and reached out to touch the upper end of the right green sleeve, glad that cloth didn't have any influence on Natural Healing, because disrobing would prove to be a painful experience for Harry right now.

"What did you say that merited a broken clavicle?"

"Nothing," Harry defended himself. His voice was muffled as he was facing downward during the process.

"Oh, sure. Because the Dark Lord did this without a reason."

"'s his fault," Harry forced through clenched teeth. Draco silently rejoiced – he had not heard Harry sound petulant in weeks. Months, perhaps. Of course, it might have been a distortion of sound caused by the tiling…

"I didn't ask him to plant a chunk of his soul into me."

Draco glanced skyward and shoved Harry to roll him over. The green-eyed menace sat up, grunting under his breath, but then gave Draco a brilliant smile and let himself be hauled up.

"You won't believe what Tom and I did to Snape today!"

Draco frowned.

"I'm afraid I would. But, _please_, can we talk about _him_ somewhere more private?"

Harry scrutinised him closely and nodded. Draco didn't want to worry his friend, but he was worried, himself. The world seemed to be spinning off its axis and they were right in the gravity centre.

D-N

"I've heard what happened in the Hall. With Harry."

Tom looked up from his still full plate to the translucent being floating next to the chandalier. When the anger at Harry's obstinacy and self-mutilating tendencies faded, the former exhaustion set back in. He wished for a cup of coffee, but he had sent Flower away, and was not in the mood to search for some other thug. And he would not eat or drink anything that came anywhere near Wormtail.

He had no idea where the ghost had been in the past days, but he had not missed it. He wished it would float right back and stay there.

"How about I bind you to the dungeons?" he asked wearily. He could never afford to show weakness in front of anyone, but no one was there except Myrtle and Nagini, so he _could_ relax. His mind presented a picture of Harry, but rather than admit that he _had_ shown weakness in front of that squirt he used the vision to fuel his indignation.

Myrtle, unfortunately, seemed unimpressed, even knowing that he could and _would_ go through with the threat.

"How about you leave me to do what I want to do? I don't listen to your orders, Tom. It was, after all, _your_ choice to kill me – _not_ recruit me." She descended to him. "And I say, time will come when you will regret that decision."

"I doubt that," he replied cooly, refusing to let the mirage vex him further. He scooped a spoonful of his pudding, but the sight diminished his appetite.

"Why do you treat him like this?"

He hurled the spoon at Myrtle, and the plate followed it a split second later prompted by a burst of his magic. The ghost appeared unfazed.

"Oh, Tom…" she put an icy-cold hand on his cheek before he could lean back and out of her reach. "You're doing this because you don't know how to handle him. What he says scares you… and the only way you can deal with that is to kill him. That's _pathetic_."

Tom snapped his fingers.

For a while nothing happened. Then a quiet buzz came from beneath the room, and a while later Myrtle let out a wail that ended in an abrupt choke as she was snatched in a small vortex and sucked out through the floor.

Tom attempted to smirk, but his facial muscles didn't obey him. Without a glance in the direction he vanished the mess he had made and went to bed. There he bit on the pillow and tried to think of another way of dealing with Harry Potter.


	25. Moonstruck

Lookie, lookie! A new chapter! And a long one, too… I must say, like this one. Not as much as the previous one, but still a lot… I just shut up now.  
Read, enjoy, review! Ta.  
Brynn

Chapter 25: Moonstruck

Tom could not sleep. His chambers seemed to imprison him, instead of defending him from his enemies as usually. It wasn't until he smashed the crystal carafe into the opposite wall, that Nagini abandoned her dwelling and slithered next to him on te bed to keep him silent, sympathetic company. They lounged in silence for a while, she chilling the skin of his left leg, abdomen and right upper arm, he staring at the large red blotch on the wall… until he once again lost patience.

"Why doesss he ssseek my presssence? He ssshould hate me… He'sss sssupposssed to be avoiding me-" 

"_Harry isss lonely, Massster,"_ Nagini explained simply. Somehow, it didn't make any more sense than before.

"_I don't underssstand,"_ he said, almost idly flinging a tumbler after the carafe, and hitting the cetre of the dark red blotch. Nagini hissed wordlessly and moved, brushing Tom's chest and settling over his waist. Her weight was welcome, comforting him more than anything.

"That doesss not sssurprissse me, Massster. Falssse pretensssesss assside, you are a sssociopath."

He absently stroked her head. Apparently, neither of them was even close to understanding the phenomenon that was Harry Potter.

N-N

As soon as the boys entered their bedroom, Harry warded the door and followed Draco to sit next to him on his bed. It was one of those weird steps between them that just occurred – he did not have to be invited. He just new that he was allowed.

Draco had a half of his blanket wrapped around his shoulders as though he was cold. Harry put a hand on his arm to offer comfort or support – whatever it was the blond needed. Finally, he gathered himself enough to speak.

"I saw Snape today. He…" there was a brief pause, as if Draco had trouble formulating his feelings,"…he _scared_ me."

Harry scowled and his grip on his friend's arm tightened. If Snape as much as harmed a hair on Draco's head, Tom would have his skin.

"What happened?!"

Draco shuddered. Harry inwardly smirked at the prospect of revenge, and pulled him closer.

"He… looked at me." Draco was staring blankly at the door, and that was what convinced Harry that he honestly yearned for the comort. Perhaps this was how Bill and Charlie would act… before Bill became a supporter of Voldemort.

"No one ever looked at me like that."

"Like what?"

Draco's skin acquired a greyish shade. He reached for his wand and conjured a cup of tea – a habit he had persumably learned from his mother. When in distress, a cup of hot tea would make everything better. Unless you burnt your tongue – but that was Harry's private opinion, and now was not the time to voice it. He waited for Draco to compose himself and continue.

"I don't know… Kind of… kind of like the Dark Lord looked at you when you were strapped to the cross."

"Oh… oh!" Harry recalled the interaction between Tom and himself that particular morning. It had not been pretty. And Tom was looking at him like… "Uh oh." He had not quite bethought everything that happened to him then, and he didn't want to return to it. He preferred not to think about it when he didn't have to.

"Harry?! Tell me what's going on!"

"I don't know what's going on, Draco." It was a lie, but Harry didn't know how to say anything else. At least it was merciful. "But I think you should talk to him," he added, because if he was right _and_ this issue remained unresolved, they were in for a _gargantuan_ trouble.

"Talk to _Snape_?!" Draco yelled, and spilt the tea on his and Harry's knees. Fortunately, it wasn't so hot anymore, and Harry waved it out of existence with his hand.

"The man gives me creeps! My fingers itch for wand when I'm around him! And if he starts being an arse to you again, I'll do it. I'll hex him."

Harry carefully snatched the wand from Draco's wildly-gesturing hand. Not that he was afraid he would be cursed… at least not intentionally. The blond wanted to protest, but then did not. Harry gave him a minute to calm down, and then spoke.

"I don't think Snape'd do that again. Tom _explained_ to him that he shouldn't. Rather forcefully."

Draco weakly chuckled. His fingers were still quivering, but he didn't lean on Harry quite so heavily anymore.

"I'm sorry I missed that?" he asked, uncertain.

"No, you're not." Harry shook his head, remembering that he had been glad for Draco's absence. He wished all his friends could be happy, but it was not possible – yet – and he couldn't do anything but give advice.

"Well… talk to him, Draco. One of these days, even he will have to start acting like a civilised person."

Draco laughed, and lay down, slipping his legs under the blanket. He caught Harry's eyes and smiled.

"You're a good friend, _Potter_. I wish you had taken my hand when I offered it."

Harry thought back to their first year at Hogwarts. He had been a brainwashed Golden Boy, and Draco an equally brainwashed, arrogant, spoilt son of a Death Eater. It could not have been, and if Harry gave the friendship a chance, it would have ended quickly and harmfully for both of them. There never was a chance before. Neither of them had been a man who could get on with the other. For Harry, it was Draco's transformation into a Natural Healer and consequent change among the Slytherin's priorities that made bearable…

But he could lie.

"I do as well."

N-N

"_Harry_?"

He should have been sleeping, but the slight movement of the door opening had been enough to rouse Harry from semi-consciousness to full alert.

"_Nagini_?" he asked into the silence of the night.

"_I want to asssk you sssomething_."

"_Of courssse, Nagini,_" he replied, propping himself up on his elbow. The giant snake coiled itself on the carpet, and stared up into Harry's _green_ eyes.

"_What isss it like to be lonely_?" the snake questioned. Whatever Harry had expected, this was not it. There was little doubt that Nagini was but a messenger for Tom – after all, the Dark Lord couldn't quite come out and inquire about human emotions. He briefly entertained the idea of sending her away to tell Tom to come personally, but he changed his mind when he realised that she was acting without Tom's approval, just trying to help.

"_It isss when… when you wisssh sssomeone wasss there, to talk to, to hold your hand, to feel the warmth of their body… or to jussst to lisssten to them breathing. When you wissshed you were not alone_." He sighed wistfully. Explaining loneliness was too close to actually telling the snake how he felt most of the time. It came too close to baring his soul… suddenly the qiet, regular sound of Draco breathing wasn't quite enough to dispell those feelings. "_Nagini… If you… If you are lonely, perhapsss you could ssstay for a while_."

She hissed a sign of gratefulness, but declined and slithered away. Harry watched her go, and eventually surrendered to sleep.

N-D

It was half past eight in the morning on Tuesday, when the door opened without the person on the other side knocking. Draco stood up, expecting the Dark Lord. Harry rolled over to sit on his bed, abandoning his book. They were surprised as they saw the black Death Eater woman on the threshold. She carried a tray with better breakfast than either of the boys ate in weeks.

"Can I help you?" Draco drawled icily. The lack of basic courtesy could have been excused when the trespasser was an extremely powerful Dark wizard, but this hussy's attitude insulted him. Aretha flashed him a _contrasting_ smile.

"I'll be blunt, Mr Malfoy," she replied and entered the room, which earned her third and fourth (for the address) black point, when Draco counted the tomato-incident. She was instantly added to his 'hate list'.

She set the tray on the table, straightened and turned to face him, completely ignoring Harry, which earned her the fifth black point, but Draco didn't count anymore. She had no chance on gaining his favour. Ever.

Her grin widened.

"I fancy you. I want you."

Draco's eyes widened in shock (it _was_ blunt, not to speak _crude_) and then narrowed in outrage. He attempted to block out Harry, who lifted his pillow and pressed his face into it to stiffle his laughter.

"Sorry," he said with feigned indifference. "You're not my type."

"Because I'm black," she spat. The gall made Draco's temperature rise. Harry's shoulders were shaking helplessly. Draco wanted to smack him.

"No, actually it's because you're way too easy." Harry threw the pillow on the floor and dissolved into a pile of giggles. Draco looked over at him and couldn't keep the smirk from his face. It seemed to insult her in turn. He felt a sense of accomplishment. "And then… you are a _woman_."

A black woman cannot quite get red in the face, but were she a Weasley, she would have been crimson by this time. Draco was grateful for Harry's presence. Had he been alone, he would have found the whole situation outrageous, not hilarious.

"Bloody faggot!" Aretha exclaimed and slammed the door behind herself. Harry hit his head on the side of his bed, he was laughing so hard. Draco hesitated, but then joined him, remembering the look on her face. He had tears in his eyes, and the room was blurred, and his belly ached. Then, suddenly, there was silence.

"Harry?" he inquired, wiping his cheeks. The grey-haired teen was gazing at him from the opposite side of the room.

"I just think that we are in just a bit of a tense situation here," he said lightly. "I mean-"

"Don't worry – I won't molest you." He reconsidered. "Unless we both want it."

Harry laughed again, but managed to stiffle it before it got uncontrollable again. He theatrically put the back of his hand on his forehead and stared at the ceiling.

"Draco?" he said in an unnaturally high-pitched voice. "This is going too fast, I haven't gotten used to you being friendly yet…"

The blond buried his face in his hands. Suddenly it wasn't so hilarious anymore.

"Git," he muttered, and the only response he got was another bout of laughter. Then there was a quiet scraping of a chair.

"I meant that she brought breakfast only for one. But if you don't want, I'm sure I can-"

"Not a word!" Draco hissed. "To anyone!" The humiliation!

Harry checked the food for any kind of tampering, grinned, picked up the fork and offered it to him.

D-M

"Severus?"

Minerva was used to see this particular man stalking the corridors of the Hogwarts castle at all times of a day, but today there was something off… It was in the pace. The black robes didn't billow quite the right way. The well-known rhythm of steps was slower than usual…

Put together with how he was acting in the past week and some, Minerva was becoming very worried for this boy. She never truly managed to stop thinking of him as a student, and her teacher's and Head of House's instincts were kicking in now.

He turned around to look at her. Her first thought had been that perhaps this had something to do with that incredible tragedy in Hogsmeade, or with the Headmaster's unexplained ire, but one look into his eyes proved that this was a different problem. Minerva dealt with the same in past; as a Prefect, as a Headgirl and in her current position, but there was little she could do to ease Severus's situation.

"Minerva," he replied politely and nodded to her.

"Wouldn't you like a cup of tea?" she asked, not really hopeful, because the same attempt had been unsuccessful often enough in the past. He hesitated.

"Or perhaps something stronger? I do have an older bottle of brandy that is too good to open by myself…"

"Minerva, I do not deny I have been on the way to delve into my own storage of alcohol. But I believe it is not for-"

"Shush, child."

There was a spark of indignance in his dark eyes, and it eased Minerva's heart ever so slightly. This boy needed a shoulder to cry on, but he never actually let himself cry. He drowned his demons in an ocean of alcohol.

"Come and tell me about the latest issue of Potions Quarterly, will you?" 'And about anything else you find worth mentioning' hung suspended in the air. He shook his head but followed her.

Shadows hid the small smile on Minerva's face. It was about time Severus opened his heart to someone. She just feared that, were it broken, he might never heal.

M-N

"That's disgusting," Bellatrix exclaimed, glaring at the naked woman sleeping in the bed.

"The skin colourrr is not imporrrtant, Bella," replied a cold voice from the mahagony armchair. The woman spun and let the tip of her wand touch the neck of the man sitting there. He merely raised a pale eyebrow.

She huffed, but put the wand away.

"I offerrred you my hospitality, dearrr sisterrr-in-law," Lucius admonished and gestured to the second armchair. Bellatrix sat down, making a show of how unhappy she was about doing so, and took a profferred glass.

"It is not drrrugged, Bella," Lucius stated, and his eyes strayed to the figure tangled in his sheets. "And do not be disgusted by young Arrretha. She is quite a rrresourrrceful girrrl. I have my ways of using rrresourrrceful girrrls…"

Bellatrix snickered, but stopped when he aimed another raised eyebrow at her.

"As _Forrrtune_ has it, young Miss M'boga _coincidentally_ became somewhat captivated by Drrraco, and herrr prrroposal – extrrremely plebian, I might add – was _unkindly_ rrrefused. I need not mention that Miss M'boga was not happy with the humiliation, and sought out myself with the wish forrr rrrevenge."

"Her proposal to you was not refused," Bellatrix commented with a cackle. Lucius lifted his glass in a mockery of a toast.

"You might be interrrested, Bella, what my _forrrmerrr_ son stated as the rrreason forrr his _rrrefusal_."

The black girl shifted slightly and let out a small sound. Bellatrix curled her lips in derision. Lucius coldly smiled.

"It appearrrs that Drrraco is not interrrested in women."

His companion hastily swallowed the liquid and stared at him in shock. Lucius nodded, confirming his words.

"A _pouf_? You might just be lucky to have gotten rid of him."

"Indeed," the man acknowledged. He lazily rolled the glass and watched as the liquid in it swirled. Then something in the mangled remainder of Bellatrix's brain clicked.

"Do you think… Draco and _Potter_?!" The outrage!

"Undoubtedly," Lucius replied cooly. "That still does not change our plans. Miss M'boga's information might prove valuable."

"And the girl?" Bellatrix asked hungrily, in her bloodlust forgetting all about her former nephew and his _qeerness_.

"Do with herrr as you please. I darrre say the Darrrk Lorrrd will not miss herrr, but do make surrre she is found on somebody else's grrrounds… and trrry not to soil the bedding." He stood up and walked over to the door. Bellatrix licked her lips.

Lucius halted with his hand on the doorknob and looked back over his shoulder. "Last time Potterrr foiled ourrr plans. We must not let such failurrre rrrepeat."


	26. Fashion

A/N: Firstly, I want to thank all my reviewers. The feedback is being scarce nowadays, and thus all the more treasured.  
A short message to all my readers: Review!  
Thank you for your attention.  
Brynn

Chapter 26: Fashion

Saturday dawned sunny, and neither Draco nor Harry had seen the Dark Lord in days. They had been frequently visited by the two resident Healers – Carl and Anabelle – and he had noticed Harry hissing at the shadows in the library, so he supposed they were being monitored. He still had no idea what did his friend do or say to anger Voldemort, but it also had a positive side – they didn't have to meet Snape. It was another blissful eight days before Draco would have to face the man.

He had a suspicion that Harry didn't tell him the whole truth about Snape, but no amount of annoying helped to get any information out of the boy. He eventually gave that up and focused on his studies of human anatomy. He already knew more than he cared for – a human body was full of red squishy things that kept it alive. And tended to ooze whenever their confines of skin and muscle were opened. Draco hated pain passionately, but he had to admit that the invention of Cruciatus was in a way blessing. He could imagine what Death Eater meetings would look like, were the Dark Lord reduced to physical means of torture.

All in all, Draco started to realise that being a Natural Healer was not simply having a rare, strange power. It also meant all those things he used to avoid – like responsibility that forced itself through the _urge_ to Heal, and appreciation of what he was doing induced by the Healer-Bestowed bond. He felt it like an unnatural jolt of content whenever he walked past any of the men and women he had Healed. But nothing could hold a candle to the way he felt about Harry. Harry was his _first_ Bestowed, and it showed: Draco couldn't stand the green-eyed menace hurting itself in any way. He felt compelled to mend the smallest of papercuts, a scrape, a stiff neck, cramped muscles… anything that might ail Harry in any way. And the worst of it was, that he _enjoyed_ it.

"What the Hell did you do to me…" he mumbled, laying back in the hard backed chair he appropriated and closing his eyes. The tips of his fingers sllid down the yellowed paper of the book on the table in front of him and landed bonelessly in his lap. He listened to the soft hum of the piles of tomes everywhere around him… it sounded dangerous, the same way dark, deep enormous caves were dangerous. Before the fear of the unknown could set in, Harry put a hand on his shoulder.

"It was not me, Draco. And I'm sorry if it's turned out bad for you-"

"Not exactly 'bad'," he protested. "I am just… not who I always thought I was." Harry laughed softly, and Draco absolutely loved the sound. Whatever it was that made Harry suddenly cherish life, he was grateful for it.

"There's two of us."

Draco cracked one eye open, but felt too weary to bother and lift an eyebrow, too. Harry was carding his fingers through a strand of Draco's hair that escaped the tie, and smiling.

"You're someone different. I'm someone different. And… now we're saddled with each other. Nagini says the documents are signed. They just wait for our signatures, and Tom insists on a Blood Ritual, but I don't think so."

Draco sighed.

"I don't mind living with you. No, really, when you're… alright, you're not too exuberant to suffer." He attempted to crack a smirk, but the sarcasm was wasted, for neither of them felt like joking, especially not about Harry's unfortunate tendency to hurt himself. That was, hopefully, a thing of the past… "I'm already attached to you as it is," he said, not as bitterly as he would wish it to come out because, to tell the truth, he really, really cared about Harry. "-though I don't think there's a way to convince the Dark Lord against using Blood Magic."

This time Harry smirked.

"Don't worry, _brother_. I have some heavy-load arguments."

D-D

It was past time for dinner, but neither Harry nor Draco were hungry, so they decided to spend their evening within their bedroom. The world outside was dark, and the windowpane glistened in the flames of candles, and it took Draco quie a long time to admit to himself that he was too nervous to concentrate on his reading. He gave up, shut the text carefully out of his new-found respect for Joaquim, and went to join Harry by the table. The boy was staring into the obscurity of night, or perhaps at the reflection himself in the glass.

"Funny, isn't it…" Harry asked without turning his head, hearing Draco sink on the chair beside him. Draco had no idea, so he refrained from responding. If Harry wanted him to make out the sense of that statement, he would expand.

"I never really had a family of my own… but the closest I came to having one was with the Weasleys."

Draco shrugged.

"I don't see how that is funny."

"Bill used to be kind of like my brother."

"And now he's going to be your foster-father. Does that bother you?" Draco inquired, touching Harry's shoulders in hope of easing the tension in them. In that he failed.

"I don't _want_ a family!"

Shocked, Draco almost retracted his hand, but then he changed his mind. He gripped Harry's shoulder and forced the boy to sideways lean on him.

"I always wanted a family," Harry continued quietly. "I saw my parents in the mirror of Erised – a family was my deepest desire. I loved the Weasleys. But now… everything's different. Their association with me will cause them to become a main target… and with the controversy around me lately… they'll be a target of both sides."

"That's bollocks, Harry. Weasleys are as Light as the North Star. They-"

"And what about Bill? He's a member of the Dark Order."

To this, Draco had no answer. Honestly, he lacked a lot of answers, and somehow he sensed that Harry didn't expect him to have them, but the sheer inability to explain, to _help_, felt like a personal failure. He had no idea how the people would react to the Weasleys. He didn't understand what it was that really bothered Harry, he couldn't comprehend the sudden change of heart and why the ever-lone orphan didn't want family anymore.

"I don't mind being your brother…" he offered, because it was all he had. Harry gave him a small, sad smile that Draco spied in their reflection.

"I don't mind being your brother either. I can take care of myself, _and_ of you, should you need it…" Draco had a suspicion that he _would_ need it, on occasion. Harry sighed.

"And that's the trouble. All those years, when I needed someone, there was no one. No one gave a whit about what I had to go through. I did learn to take care of myself. Now I don't need anyone. Bill's an alright-guy, but I don't _fucking_ want him to play daddy to me."

"But the-"

Draco's reply was interrupted by the sound of the door opening. Harry didn't move. Draco looked up and saw the Dark Lord's image in the glass pane.

"My Lord…" he said respectfully, but didn't stand because Harry was holding him down and refused to let go.

"While William is a privileged supporter," the Dark Lord said, meeting Harry's eyes through the reflection, "he has – and will have – no authority over either of you. In fact, as long as you reside in the Fourtower Black Fort, _you_ have authority over him. He merely carried the responsibility. His fate is in your hands - as he wished it." This time Harry did move. He let go of Draco, straightened, and waited for the Dark Lord to approach and rest a hand on his shoulder.

"Nagini tells me that you have not abandoned you foolish proposition. I will not be made a fool of."

Draco – respectful and, frankly, terrified – backed away from the pair of wizards. He, in contrast to Harry, didn't have the suicidal kind of courage that would let him stand up to the Dark Lord's orders. He oftentimes wished that Harry lacked it, too, but… Again and again, he had been sure that the boy would die, yet Harry persistently kept proving him wrong, surviving everything. In Draco's mind a bridge began to form, connecting the vision of the mythical Boy Who Lived to his soon-to-be brother that survived _everything_.

"I never meant to humiliate you, Tom," Harry responded calmly, but the tension in his shoulders that Draco wasn't able to dispell was gone with the Dark Lord's touch.

"I do not care about your intentions. I want your obedience, Harry Potter, and if the only way to achieve that is to threaten people dear to you, then that is what I will do."

Harry nodded, resigned.

"Be in the Audience Hall in thirty minutes. Wear dress robes."

Draco opened his mouth to point out that they didn't _have_ dress robes, but the words stuck in his throat as the Dark Lord crossed the room and strode out, leaving the door open. A girl reminiscent of Fleur timidly stuck her head inside.

"Come in," Harry said kindly, standing up and getting to Draco's side. The girl blushed and, trembling, stepped over the threshold. She was carrying a shrunken parcel in her arms. Seeing how obviously scared she was, Draco beckoned her closer to them.

"Hello, Gabrielle," Harry said, surprising both Draco and the little girl. She beamed at him, and her eyes shone with the all-too-familiar awe.

"Y-you remember me?" she stammered.

"Of course," Harry said with a smile and stretched out his hand. The girl blushed and handed him the parcel. "Thank you."

"I…" she blushed harder and Harry let the package down on Draco's bed and took the hand she still kept out-stretched.

"You're going be our Aunt, Gabrielle. You don't have to be shy."

She giggled, and Draco found himself staring at the exchange, mesmerised. He had a suspicion that his expression strongly resembled the girl's at that moment.

"I just… wanted to say _merci_, Harry. And…" she paused for a moment, and Draco finally realised (after processing Harry's statement) that this was Fleur's little sister, the one that he saved during the Second Task of the Triwizard Tournament.

"And?" Harry inquired.

Gabrielle timidly hung her head and, staring at her shoes, muttered something that Draco didn't quite catch. Then she abruptly turned around and ran out.

"What did she say?" he asked. Harry was gaping at the half-open door in amazement.

"She… she said that…" He turned his head and stared into Draco's eyes, before completing the statement.

"That she hopes I'll win."

D-N

Harry tugged at the high collar of his dress robe. It was the most beautiful piece of clothing he had ever worn, despite it being more than a little different from what he would willingly choose to put on. He could see Lucius Malfoy donning something like this, or perhaps even Draco, but himself… he was supposed to wear green, or black and red, but…

It was not that he looked or felt bad, just… unusual.

He finally decided that he was going to survive wearing this garment and emerged from the bathroom to find Draco standing in front of the mirror and scrutinising himself. He looked stately. Immaculate. The perfect prince.

Harry stepped up next to him and couldn't help himself but compare. Both their robes were the colour of quicksilver, both featured fancy embroidery, but Draco's was done in gold and tinged the grey of his eyes while at the same time complementing his hair (which he left falling free for the occasion). It was an effect Harry could never hope to replicate. Regardless of his lack of natural good looks, his embroidery was… the shame of it… _pink_.

It was the softest pink of rose petals, a colour that was ideal for Ginny, or Hermione, or perhaps even _Lucius Malfoy_… but a scrawny, bony, ugly Harry looked positively… facetious. Glancing at Draco he entertained the slightly hysterical conceit of glamouring his hair an analogical ultra-light pink, but Tom would probably be _livid_, and Harry had made him mad one time too many in the recent past. The question of the Glamourie, however, remained.

"This is going to be bad," he moaned desperately and tugged at the high collar again. It _was_ better than Ron's robe at the Yule Ball in their fourth year, but only slightly. At least he was not forced to wear _lace_.

"Why?" Draco asked, looking every bit the aristocratic gentleman. Fetching. Harry was a little hideous blotch of spilt dyes next to him.

"Well… last time I was supposed to dress up, I at least looked like a boy."

And then… Draco started to laugh.

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but Draco – still laughing – hugged him, picked him up, and spun him around… like a little girl. His mood sank even lower and he tried to reproach. Draco set him down and squeezed him, almost cutting off his air supply.

"You…" he chuckled. "You… are worried about clothes!"

"'s not funny," Harry reproached. Draco smiled.

"Of course not. But can you picture yourself worrying about clothes a month ago? A week ago, even?"

Harry stopped to think, only to realise that Draco was right, and he was behaving ridiculously. He shook his head, cast a simple charm to colour his hair the customary black, and set out.

"Wait," Draco caught his forearm and forced him to stay where he was. He mumbled a couple of charms and Harry felt the robe adjust on him. He risked a glance back at the mirror, only to find that now he, in addition to the pink, looked tiny and frail, as the clothes were shrunk to his size and stopped hanging off him.

"Don't worry," Draco said with a smirk. "You're kind of like a marble d-" he wisely cut himself off. Harry's despair slammed back with new force.

"We've got five minutes left. Unless you want to run and ruin your hairstyle we should go…" he said tonelessly, forcing himself to retain his equilibruim in the face of what he would call Tom's vengeance, had he not known that Tom had nothing to do with the selection of the robes. When Tom wanted to convey displeasure he tortured, _not_ humiliated.

"Harry…" Draco urged, catching up to him in the middle of an otherwise vacant corridor. "You don't look laughable. Not at all."

Harry didn't believe him.

"Really. You're what my m- what _Narcissa_ would have called androgynous-"

"Yeah. That makes me feel _so_ much better."

It meant he looked like a little kid. Draco just grinned and shook his head.

N-S

The Hall was not nearly full, but the multitude of Death Eaters present suggested that an important meeting was about to occur. Severus estimated the number of attendants to be close to fifty, which would mean the Inner Circle, the Second Circle, and – most likely – the permanent inhabitants of the Fort. He had yet to see either Draco, or Potter, and found himself skimming the room for any sign of platinum hair.

He, naturally, spotted several, since Lucius let his hood down to comfortably chat with Bellatrix and Rodolphus, and Delacour didn't even bother with hers. He, however, noticed the conspicuous lack of Delacour's younger sister, which indicated that the evening was to include bloodshed.

"Severrrus," sounded a cold voice mere steps from him, and he turned to realise that Lucius had abandoned the Lestrange's and made his way to him, with a person that very obviously was _not_ Narcissa hanging off his arm. "It has been a long time!"

Severus in the privacy of his mind decided that not nearly long enough, but woe betide him were he to say it aloud.

"Evening, Lucius," he replied with brilliantly acted civility.

"Do _you_, by any chance, know what has our Lorrrd planned forrr tonight?"

"Alas, I do not have any idea." He looked closely at the escort, but they were wearing their hood _and_ their mask, which made them unrecognisable. Lucius tightened his hold on them, as though he was showing them off, but there was something cold and calculating in the grip, as well as in the gaze Malfoy surveyed the room with.

"It seems that Drrraco is absent, today-"

A stroke of a gong resounded, sending vibrations through the glass of the windows and Severus's bones, and he hastened to take his place in the front row, while getting as far away from Lucius (who didn't look the least bit disappointed at having to leave his trail behind in the back) as possible. Wormtail shuffled away from the stairs he had been sitting on to a shadowed corner. The Dark Lord was about to enter…

Severus knelt.


	27. Gathering

A/N: Happy New Year!

Chapter 27: Gathering

"My loyal followers…" the Dark Lord intoned. It was not really an address, rather a statement, and there was a tinge of sarcasm in it. Severus involuntarily shivered, and noticed that others around him did as well. It was not all that unusual a beginning to _His_ speech, but the fact that _He_ spoke while still out of sight was irregular, and thus disconcerting.

"So many loyal… and yet such a slow progres. What do my Death Eaters do, I ask myself…" He made a significant pause, effectively lettingt the fear setting in over the lines of Dark wizards, before continuing. "Torment children that are to become the next generation of loyal – _my_ future followers!"

"Who, my Lord?" sounded an enraged female from the crowd. The Dark Lord finally emerged, seemingly out of nowhere and sat on his throne. Severus begun to comprehend what was going on – a private vengeance of an immensly powerful man who had been made a fool of. The Dark wizard looked straight into the centre of the second line of kneeling Death Eaters and his eyes glowed with crimson glee.

"Bellatrix! Rodolphus! Rabastan! Face the consequences of your deeds!" The couple stood, and Bellatrix – eager on obeying _any_ order given by her Lord – virtually dragged her rigid husband to the front. Rabastan, however, didn't seem to be present.

The woman fell on her knees on the upper stair and attempted to lick the Dark Lord's boot, only to be viciously kicked into face and fall down to the base. She immediately scrambled to her feet, wiping a steady flow of blood from her broken nose on her sleeve.

"Where is Rabastan?!" the Dark Lord nearly roared, setting the rims of the Lestranges' robes ablaze. An omnious silence fell on the Hall, disturbed merely by Rodolphus's fight with the fire on him and his wife. After a short while, when nobody volunteered any information, their Master calmly spoke: "He will be punished." Then he turned his attention to his victims.

"M-my Lord-" Rodolphus stammered, but Severus ignored him in favour of watching the Dark Lord's expression. It was apparent from the sneer – and by now Rodolphus was also realising it – that both Lestranges were going to die tonight. Rabastan might have just had the right idea of not showing up.

"I ab your fa-ourid!" Bellatrix howled in anguish. Severus very much doubted that. The Dark Lord proved him right a second later, with a bout of high-pitched, cold, cruel laughter.

"Narcissa, come forth."

A thin, wraith-like creature separated from the crowd and knelt in the free space, as far from Bellatrix as possible. The action rose a wave of murmur in the ranks, and a random gossipper was hit with Cruciatus to silence it again. Suddenly, there was a total absence of sound, and the echo of screams in Severus's ears made it all the more oppressive. The Dark Lord took his time before he spoke, and this time no one dared utter a word, scared into absolute obedience.

"Lower your hood, Narcissa."

The woman did so, and Severus – as well as several of his 'compatriots' – sucked in a shocked breath. 'Wraith-like' was an apt term to describe what she looked like. She had lost weight and gained wrinkles in the relatively short time since the last meeting that included also the Second Circle. Life obviously was not kind to her.

Severus noticed many pairs of eyes – including the Dark Lord's – straying to Lucius.

"Draco is not your child anymore, Narcissa, but since it was you who birthed him, it is you who shall decide the fate of these… disgraces."

Narcissa's hand clutched at her heart as the understanding dawned, and her once-delightful features twisted in an ugly scowl. At that moment she might have been able to murder both Lestranges with her bare hands, but under the Dark Lord's scrutiny, breathing so heavily that her entire body moved with every intake of air, she had to struggle to achieve coherent speech.

"My Lord… Draco?"

"Your son is well, woman; he was _rescued_ and restored to health. Now we shall hear your sentence."

For a while the witch remained frozen, impassive, but even having heard such shocking news she had enough self-composure to not let the Dark Lord wait too long. After dangerously straining ten seconds she shot a deprecating gaze at her sister. When she spoke, her voice was an imitation of Lucius's, though she didn't quite manage to stop it quivering.

"Let them suffer the Longbottoms' fate, my Lord!"

She was rewarded with an approving laughter from her Master, though Severus noticed that, unlike her deranged sister, she didn't bask in it. Rather, she seemed genuinly upset about Draco's hardship.

"This should prove entertaining!" the Dark Lord exclaimed gleefully, and beckoned to a pair of Death Eaters that stood slightly apart from the formation. "Flower! William! You have the honour of the first casting…"

S-N

"I desist…"

"I'm afraid that's not an option," Draco replied dryly. He swallowed and suppressed the slight tremble of jitters. Harry grumbled about the unfairness and stupidity of the entire business, and cursed Bill once again for his destructive meddlesomeness.

"There must be something I can do to stop-"

"Harry!" Draco spat angrily. Another round of screams penetrated the Silencing Charms on the double door, and they both shivered, but it didn't stop the blond from glaring at him. Harry groaned and tried to think of something… anything…

"You weren't this distressed about it before," Draco spoke, forcing himself to remain calm. "What happened?"

Harry's shoulders sagged. Suddenly the fact that he was an ugly midget in ugly dress robes about to face an army of Death Eaters didn't bother him at all. This evening was about the bigger picture – once he admitted to himself how easily he influenced the war, there was no way of closing his eyes while confronted with it – he was about to change people's lives. And not for the better.

Draco was watching him, concerned, and Harry felt his self-hate creep back into his heart, as though it had not gone away, merely took a few days off. This prematurely adult boy-wizard was in the centre of the vortex – at the time in relative peace, but surrounded with the destructive power of humanity – and it was Harry's fault.

"I never should have dragged you into this…"

Draco snorted.

"Bollocks. You didn't drag me into anything. It was _my_ choice to Heal you, _my_ choice to leave Hogwarts, and _my_ choice to come here."

"But-"

Draco's scowl stopped him from completing the sentence. Harry briefly wished he could see the blond in sunlight, but even in the glow of the torches his appearance was impressive. He radiated power in a way Lucius Malfoy could never hope to achieve. One long, shapely, pale finger touched Harry's lips to keep him from speaking.

"Don't feel guilty."

Harry sighed. He pulled out his wand and conjured a Silencing Sphere around them. If Draco was surprised, it didn't show. Harry stared into his grey-golden eyes and searched for words to explain this ultimate betrayal.

"Tell me the truth," Draco demanded. Harry acquiesced, hoping his friend could handle it.

"For as long as I'm alive, I will never, _never_ stop fighting Tom. I am condemning Bill and Fleur to certain death."

Draco was stunned.

"Y-you…"

Harry nodded grievously and looked away, because he couldn't withstand Draco's accusation on top of his feelings of… was it shame? He really wasn't sure, because intellectually he knew that his stand (_against_ the Dark Order) was the _Right_ one.

"Does _He_ know?"

Harry nodded again, his eyes fixed on the floor, on a tile with the Black crest – a sword, two stars, and two dogs flanking the shield…

"How about starting to listen to your own words, _Potter_? _He_ is not stupid. _He_ knows damn well that you're not going to be on his beck and call."

Startled, Harry glanced up. Draco snickered.

It was not that funny, but humour was perhaps the only way to weather the evening and retain sanity.

N-S

Wormtail dragged the two pitiful heaps of flesh that had once been the Lestranges away, to the sound of occasional whine when the currently moved body was jolted particularly painfully. Severus suspected that ordering the rat to do it manually, rather then simply levitating the two away, was a part of their punishment. When the Dark Lord got into a 'mood', he did it with style. Cruelty became art.

A loud hiss made the crowd's attention snap back to its leader.

"Now… my Death Eaters… follows the important part. You came today because I called you… Because there is a ritual to be performed."

Severus groaned inwardly and prayed to all the forgotten gods that he would not be required to take part in whatever gruesome activities were to take place. The crowd stirred and, as usually, there were those eager on violence and bloodshed waiting with baited breath, those cringing in repulsion of such brutality, and those – such as Severus himself – who were careful not to let on what was going on in their heads. This was the sole reason why he appreaciated the masks they were required to wear – they made it easier for him to hide his expression.

"William! Flower!"

The same two Death Eaters as before were singled out. They approached a long counter decked with black velvet, with fearlessness that made Severus despise the stupidity of the mankind. Then their hoods were lowered and his anger turned inwards for not figuring it out sooner.

A Weasley. A Weasley Death Eater… all the little signs were there… Delacour was his _fiance_ – Severus should have realised it, but the enormous improbability of William Herbert Weasley bowing to the Drak Lord's will was inexpressible. Severus never liked any of the Weasley children, but he used to have a grudging respect for this man… it felt as a kind of personal disappointment to see him here, willingly participating in a Dark blood ritual.

The Dark Lord seemed extremely pleased with both himself and the proceedings. He seated himself on his throne and raised one pale hand, holding a dagger made of strange red metal. It glinted in the light of the torches and burning oil.

"This… my followers… is our future."

The gates burst open, and a pair confidently strode in. They both wore robes of some kind of dark, gleaming material that – in the current illumination – made them look like they were enceased in flames. They approached the front of the Hall, reminiscent of wicked little demons; the taller strode evenly, gracefully, and half a step in front of the small one, but to everyone as attuned to minute nuances as Severus was, it was obvious that the smaller one was in the lead. By the time they came close enough to be recognised, the Death Eaters were all kneeling, and Severus sank to the floor to avoid sticking out.

The Dark Lord gazed at Potter with avid appreciation. The brat looked like a little porcelain doll – fragile, cold, and mignon – and at the moment there was absolutely nothing in him that would remind Severus of James. This… _puppet_ was nothing like _its_ father, and yet a little less like _its_ mother. It was hard to believe what people and circumstances had made of the Boy Who Lived into. A marchpane angel.

"We met today to shackle this little child-Prometheus to our rock…"

Potter withstood the gaze, frowning. He wore his arrogance like an aura, and, cocooned in it, had the gall to assume he could stand up against whatever the Dark Lord had prepared for him. He put his bony hand on the cuff of Draco's sleeve and opened his mouth to hiss.

S-N

"_You are making a missstake, Tom,_" Harry/Tom announced into the silence, once he managed to instil some semblance of calm into Harry's panicked mind. Draco stared at him, startled and questioning, but this was his one chance, and he knew better than to confront Voldemort in front of his most valued servants with them knowing about it.

The Dark Lord, true to his Slytherin heritage, didn't move a muscle, but Harry/Tom took one look into his eyes and saw that the wizard was prone to listen to what he had to say.

"_In what?_"

"_In that you wisssh to formalissse the adoption by a blood-bond._"

Tom's non-lips curled in a disgusted smirk.

"_Well, Harry Potter, what isss your excussse that is sssupposssed to make me reconsssider?_"

Harry didn't rise to the bait; in fact, he had to clamp down on the urge to smile.

"_Our blood isss the sssame, Tom, or have you forgotten? Do you wisssh an entire family with tiesss to the Light to have _your _blood circling in their veinsss?_"

He had to admit that the Dark Lord had an enviable control of his body. It was the wips of Dark power that leaked from his core that cracked and splintered the wooden parts of his throne. The same Darkness oozed on the ground, formed a pool with Tom in its centre, and raised back up to repair what damage it had caused. Harry didn't even blink, watching with regard how Lord Voldemort reacted to shock when he couldn't freely express his feelings.

"_I… reconsssidered,_" Tom announced simply, and Harry could just picture what was going on inside his head. He suppressed a relieved smile, keeping the stony expression in place for the sake of the gathered Death Eaters.

"Aretha!"

There was another silence. Harry watched as the Dark wizards and witches squirmed, trying to identify the one searched for among them. Unless there were two members of the Order with identical names, this missing one was the black woman whose proposition Draco had turned down. The boys exchanged a significant look with a faint trace of foreboding. Harry didn't believe in coincidences.

Tom was becoming more tense with every second, and Harry had a bad feeling that the tension would be dispelled by an act of extreme violence.

"_Nagini, bring the parchments!_" The hiss was low, signifying fatigue and wrath, but Tom kept a tight hold of himself. Harry let himself observe and admire the determination. Isolated from the way the Dark Lord was using it, it was fascinating. There was such force of will behind Tom's red, glowering eyes, that it made Harry want to smile.

"_Here, Master…_" The snake coiled around Tom's throne and lifted its head so that the man could comfortably pluck two rolls of parchment from between its jaws. He straightened them, and they remained so, floating in midair.

"Harry James… Draco Yves…" Tom announced, beckoning them to approach the scroll. "Sign."

Draco moved first, and took a weird reddish dagger from Tom. Harry was quite glad that he was left to go as second, because he wouldn't have known what to do. Apparently, this was some kind of pureblood ritual – or it was the way things were done to get magic to accept the formal bond of the 'children' to the 'family'.

Draco sliced his index finger and traced it across the parchment, drawing his first name. Harry followed. Despite the reluctance toward using his blood in a contract, his Tom-part held a full knowledge of the possible consequences. This was not a Blood Ritual as such, and the brownish 'Harry' on the scroll could not be used for a magical attack against him.

Then it was done, and he and Draco stood shoulder to shoulder, facing their foster parents on the other side of the throne.

"See William and Flower, and see their children, Harry and Draco!" Tom commanded, and the Hall of Death Eaters gazed up in response, almost unison. It seemed that no one had noticed when Harry slipped the dagger into his robe.


	28. The Revel

Sorry it took so long… but I'm currently working on another thing and searching for a job, so updates probably won't be all that regular… I'm ashamed of myself.  
Hope you'll like this, anyway.  
Brynn

Chapter 28: The Revel

The metal was cool, freezing his fingers as he hid his hands in the folds of the lower part of his robe. He used the razor-sharp blade to cut through the fabric, and a silent wandless charm to keep the weapon stuck to his trouser-clad thigh.

His attention returned to the happenings when the gates were re-opened, and a huddle of people was herded in. Surrounded with guards on all sides they pressed close to each other, though in vain. These particular Death Eaters looked different – their masks were _red_, not white. They were taller, and moved with self-confidence that most of their fellows lacked in the presence of their master.

With unusual economy of action, working as a well-coordinated team, they forced the captives to kneel in front of the Dark Lord, on and around the spot where rogue Death Eaters were being tortured a mere while ago. Harry/Tom took his time to observe them.

Judging by their attire they were mostly wizards, and they were freshly-caught. Their expressions varied from defiance to fury to fear to despair. They were immersed in a cloud of hopelessness that caused Tom to feel giddy, but made Harry burn with 'righteous' anger. By the sheer force of emotion, he regained the control, not banishing his Tom-part, but greatly suppressing it.

He stepped slightly forwards, out of Draco's shadow. The response of the group of detainees was immediate.

"Harry Potter?!"

"But he's…"

"You're dead!"

The Dark Lord smirked and let them be for a while long enough for them to start wondering. They must have expected their death – they would have been fools not to – but it seemed that they had not expected to meet their Saviour before it occurred. There was a young girl – of seventeen, perhaps – holding a four-year-old boy to her chest. Elswhere a brother and sister tried to hide from the Dark Lord behind their parents. And all their eyes were on him, pleading.

"Not as dead as he would sometimes wish to be…" Voldemort smirked at him. "are you, Harry?"

Harry's heart went cold when he belatedly realised that these people were to be the evening's entertainment. He had long since come to terms with the fact that they were in war, and that meant that warriors along with civillians died, but he sincerely, with all his heart, despised torture. If Voldemort were to kill all of his prisoners, Harry would grieve, but he would get over it. Watching them suffer at his hands and the hands of his followers… he wouldn't be able to stand that.

"_I thought you did not condone child-abussse,_" Harry hissed, and felt Draco's sweaty hand grope for his own, seeking re-assurance. "_Essspecially after what happened to you. Do you realissse,_ _that you are sssubjecting children to a fate that isss worssse than your childhood wasss_?"

Tom gave him a loathing glare. It chilled his bones, but Harry pretended to be unfazed.

"_Isss your pain different from theirsss? Did you not ssset out to change the world ssso that othersss wouldn't sssuffer your fate?_" He squeezed Draco's hand, hoping that the comforting presence of his new brother would be enough to ground him. He felt much worse now, facing the Dark warlock with short temper, than he did an hour ago, faced with the prospect of participating in a Dark blood ritual.

Weird, how red eyes could appear colder than ice.

"_We do not torture children here. They sssurvive, and – to prevent traumasss – are Obliviated afterwardsss_."

"_Oh yeah, becaussse obliviation sssolvesss everything_." Fortunately, the tone didn't carry over in Parseltongue. "_And where do you sssend them? To an _orphanage_, perhapsss?Muggle orphanage?_"

"_Enough_!" Tom commanded with an ugly sneer. But Harry couldn't obey. Much as he had cherished his life this past week, it was of no importance compared to the lives of these people. And he had a way of making Tom let them go… only he had no idea how the Dark Lord would react afterwards. But – _most likely_ – it could not be worse than crucifixion.

"Let them go, Tom," he said softly, making sure it would sound like a _suggestion_, not an order. Nevertheless, his voice carried. He felt Draco beside him stiffen with shock. He locked eyes with Tom, squeezed Draco's hand again, let go of it, and stepped forward.

"Let them all go and spread my message. Tell them that I am treated better here than I ever was treated at Hogwarts. Tell them I had to flee because Dumbledore actively sought my death. Tell them the _truth_, and let them tell the others… everyone." Tom's gaze gradually darkened during his speech, but Harry didn't back down. "_Let them ssstart the epidemy_."

N-D

Harry was going to die.

For the first time Draco had a sibling, and he wouldn't even have the chance to get used to the sensation – it wasn't going to last more than an hour. He whined, quietly, making sure no one but, perhaps, Harry could hear. The Dark Lord's glare aimed at Harry made even Snape on a bad day look like a Honeydukes' man.

"Let them, then," Voldemort spoke icily, and Draco was even more surprised than Harry and, apparently, seeing the Dark Lord's fury also much more afraid. The Death Eaters didn't seem to notice, though. It made sense; Voldemort wouldn't want his minions to know how Harry played him…

He shuddered. Behind him the Mudbloods let out a cacophony of gasps. Somehow they did not seem much different from anyone else… they looked just like purebloods would. Draco had no true idea, apart from the assumption that the Dark Lord would hunt people with _Muggle_ parentage.

"Speak. Retell your story, Harry Potter."

D-D

Harry narrated an extremely edited version of their story, making Dumbledore look like an insane maniac out for his blood, and Voldemort like the strict, but righteous ruler of the Dark Order. Draco could see that the boy was disgusted with himself, but masked it well, and thus the Mudbloods believed everything he said because – how could they not? He was their Saviour. Literally.

The Dark Lord selected a group of the third-row Death Eaters to take the prisoners outside after the meeting was dismissed, and provide Portkeys to send them to Hogsmeade. Harry sadly watched them, apparently without any sense of accomplishment. On the contrary; he looked like he was going to be sick.

The meeting was coming to a premature end, since Harry robbed the Death Eaters of their fun, and – to Voldemorts irritation – a low hum of disappointment and disagreement arose. It quieted again when Harry was gestured to approach the throne. He didn't hesitate; like a month ago he faced whatever repercussion the Dark Lord had in mind with infuriating Gryffindorness.

Voldemort's eyes gleamed. Draco bit the inside of his mouth to stop himself from saying anything – he would only make things worse.

"Ah. Before I forget – for speaking out of turn," the Dark Lord said with a sinister smile. He sketched a symbol in the midair with the tip of his wand.

Harry jerked and fell back into one of the prisoners. The man caught him awkwardly, took a look, then leant over and vomited. Draco forced himself to remain silent but walk over there to see what happened.

Harry's arms, from elbows to fingers, were literally shredded. One big, silent tear formed in the corner of Harry's eye, and fell. Draco met the red-green gaze; it was filled with pain and self-deprecation. He hated it, but put his arm around the lithe form to support it from behind and disentangle it from the Mudblood's hands. The front of Harry's robe was covered with blood, but right now Draco couldn't care less.

He walked his brother back to their former spots, and made him face the gathering. It seemed that the 'punishment' appeased the Death Eaters; some even cackled with glee. Draco would have hexed Lucius some painful if he could identify the man.

He looked at the throne, hoping for an early dismissal, so he could get to Healing Harry, because it was extremely hard to resist the urge now, and he knew he couldn't Heal him now. Not in front of the Inner and the Second Circle.

He forced himself to look away and up, and froze… The Dark Lord was looking at Harry… just like Snape had been looking at Draco in the hallway.

D-S

Walking up to Hogwart's gate from the spot he Apparated onto, Severus contemplated what he had witnessed.

He wasn't sure what happened. He knew the pattern of these revels by heart, so it was clear to him that the evening didn't go quite as the Dark Lord had expected it to… but the deviation from the original plan was too extreme.

Firstly, no blood ritual took place. Of course, no one said that was on schedule, but the Dark Lord wouldn't pass such an opportunity as adoption within the Dark Order without using as much Dark magic as possible. And since Severus spent much less time looking at the floor than an average Death Eater, he saw Potter arguing against the ritual.

And winning that argument.

That in itself would have been enough to ring bells in his head, but Potter couldn't stop there. No, the brat had to go and argue again, regardless of what was to happen to him in retaliation, and… _won another argument_! The miserable midget saved the lives of twenty Muggleborns, and then calmly stood there dripping his own blood as though it was a daily occurrence.

Severus felt a headache starting, crossing the wards. The gate shut behind him with a metallic thunk.

_What_ was Potter? Was he partly some mythical creature that controlled human minds? That would make sense… in a way… But the brat never did anything like that in school. Was he trying to disguise himself? Then why would he let the Dark Lord crucify him? Why…

Dull throbbing near his temples set in.

Dumbledore had to know about this. It was a nice move on the Dark Lord's part, to have Potter tell these wizards his heartbreaking story. Poor little Saviour, threatened by the evil manipulating Headmaster. It didn't make sense, but desperate condemned beings were rescued from certain death by a child that decided to take punishment for them. The pattern was disconcertingly familiar.

He wasn't at all surprised when they believed him. Potter had just sent out the first wave of fanatics, who – if they weren't stop quickly enough – would spread the story like wildfire. A dangerously large part of the community might turn against Dumbledore…

Severus shut the gate and stood in the Entrance Hall. The Headmaster's phoenix circled him once, and flashed out of existence. He was expected in the Head's office.

It made sense. Potter had no mysterious abilities. He was just a dummy, playing a role the Dark Lord assigned to him in the manipulation of the public – and played he had it wonderfully. Which just meant all the more trouble for the Light.

Severus always knew that Potters were more trouble than they were worth.

S-D

The Hall was finally empty.

Draco wished they were back in their room where he could sit down on a soft bed, force Harry to sit next to him, and generally have much better conditions for Healing. Harry, however, didn't seem up to the journey. He looked like he was _partly_ in shock – his eyes remained the red-green mosaic, but his Glamourie got out of control and coloured patches of his skin an ugly livor mortis colour.

Draco guided the idiot to sit on the stairs, because he didn't believe him to be able to stand on his own, and surveyed the damage closely. Harry had splintered fractures of both forearms, and the pieces of bones tore through the flesh practically everywhere.

"Do you have a death wish?" he sighed.

Harry smiled, not entirely absently. Draco repeated his words to himself in his head, and groaned.

"Don't worry," Harry/Tom said quietly, trying to placate Draco. It didn't work, when he had to look at the damaged limbs. Muggles would have to amputate them. Pomfrey would be hard-pressed to save them. A Natural Healer could do it with unfair ease, and the Dark Lord either knew it or… Draco refused to contemplate the other option.

"Tom won't kill me this easily," Harry added. It was obvious – otherwise he would have been long since dead.

"Brace yourself. This is going to hurt."

Harry's smile widened.

"A lot," Draco added. Harry's expression didn't change. Draco stopped restraining himself and closed his eyes to the sight of Harry biting back a scream.


	29. Finality

A/N: Another chapter for your enjoyment! Read, review, stay tuned for more!  
Brynn

Chapter 29: Finality

It was half past midnight. After the injuries he had sustained, Harry should have been sleeping. But, no, the idiot just had to get out of bed, change into his robes, and attempt to – oh, so inconspicuously – sneak out of the room. Draco caught his wrist as he was reaching out for the doorhandle.

Harry didn't appear to be startled in the least. He let his hand down and quizzically looked at Draco. The whites of his eyes shone eerily in the darkness.

"Where do you think you are going?"

"Going to fulfil a promise," Harry replied easily, but did not cede his gaze, as though awaiting Draco's judgement. Or approval. Draco didn't understand the question.

"Are you coming?"

Well, no wonder he had not understood. He couldn't have expected Harry to invite him to tag along on whatever quest he was setting out on. Usually the Gryffindor acted as a single man unit, and wanted it to remain so…

"Why would you want me to come?"

Harry smirked, and for a moment his teeth flashed the same eerie blue as his eyes.

"You're better in Dark Arts than I am. I only had this last week to tap into them. And if I get myself into trouble, I might need you to get me out out of it…" he added lightly. Draco snorted. It was not funny. Harry was infuriatingly prone to accidents that called for medical aid, and with Draco being the boy catastrophe's 'personal Healer', he began to sympathise with Poppy Pomfrey of all people!

"Didn't you get into enough trouble for one day?"

"How much trouble is enough trouble?" Harry asked in the same light tone, but before Draco could snap something back he waved the matter away. "You don't have to come. I just thought… you might want to say goodbye…"

Draco's thoughts must have been visible on his face, judging by the fierce scowl Harry gave him.

"Not to me!" He sighed. "Come on."

Draco wanted to argue while at the same time he wanted to go. He damned Harry's reticence and his own curiosity as he pulled on the clothes he had discarded before the ceremony yesterday. They felt _used_, but he didn't have time for any cleaning spells, because Harry dragged him out the door.

"Where are we going?" Draco inquired as they set out for the back staircase.

"To the catacombs."

D-S

As long as Severus remembered, sleep never came easily for him. He would toss and turn and subconsciously fight to stay awake, to be aware of any approaching danger and safe from nightmares, while consciously willing himself to just go under so he would be able to function in the morning.

Therefore, when rudely roused by a sudden flash of crimson fire just a moment before he had finally accomplished his goal, his natural reaction was ire.

"What now?" he sniped, disregarding the fact that it was Dumbledore's fault, _not_ Fawkes's, that he couldn't enjoy his half night's sleep. He pulled himself up to his feet by sheer force of will and cringed as several of his joints popped. The chicken had the gall to give him a _sympathetic_ look.

He set out to the exit from his quarters, only to have the phoenix flash into his way to stop him. He glared at it blearily. It – unfazed – _cocked_ its head to the side and _crooned_.

"What now?" he repeated, too tired and sleepy to manage to sound as irritated as he was. The bird flew over to his wardrobe and pecked at it. Knowing that he stood against a more powerful enemy, Severus surrendered and opened the case.

Fawkes pulled at the edge of his Death Eater robe.

With a muttered expletive, Severus pulled it out and put it on. As soon as he fastened the belt, two sets of talons dug into his shoulder and he…

…was elsewhere. This elsewhere was apparently in the foyer of Dumbledore's office. Sounds of conversation came from behind the door. When Severus reached for the knob, the phoenix pecked his ear. He got the message – stay where you are and listen. He did.

"Well, I must leave it to Lucius that he at least makes for a good fuck." The voice was vaguely familiar, the way any of his students' voices would be. It was a relatively young man speaking, but that (even without accounting for the option of magical altering) didn't much narrow the choice. Of course, the tone and the vocabulary suggested that this person was out of school – the Headmaster wouldn't have let a student talk to him like that. And Lucius Malfoy would be – _probably_ – above bedding a child.

The thoughts about bedding a child made him sick with himself.

"Please," Dumbledore replied condescendingly. "Such crudeness is wholly unnecessary."

"Did I insult your sensibilities, Dumbledore?" queried the insolent youth. Severus racked his brain. Who was this person? Why didn't Dumbledore inform the Order that he had another spy in the Dark Lord's lines?

Meanwhile the man continued giving the Headmaster his piece of mind, which – in Severus's opinion – was rather hilarious.

"You were not the one whoring himself to Malfoy for snippets of plans. You were the one who _ordered_ _me_ to do it. Abandon your illusion of moral high, old man. To me, you're no better than any other master."

Severus suppressed the urge to clap.

"What did you find out?" Dumbledore questioned in the cold voice devised to remind rebelling spies of their rightful place.

"Well, Lucius was a gentleman and escorted me to the meeting, conveniently forgetting that it was not accessible to the Third Circle." Another information – this newest traitor was from the Third Circle, which narrowed his identity to approximately forty people. "And – and this is the interesting part – Lucius thinks that the Dark Lord's gone insane. He wants to use the treatment of Potter as a proof, and plans a revolt. The objective is to kill the Dark Lord and usurp his position."

Interesting, indeed. Severus couldn't quite believe Malfoy to be such a fool. Even if he had succeeded in removing the Dark Lord from the equation – which was neigh on impossible – there was no way someone like Lucius could control the entire Order. He didn't have enough experience, enough knowledge, enough charisma (!) and nowhere near enough power. If he attempted to usurp the 'throne', the Death Eaters would kill him, and then fight each other…

"And when does Mr Malfoy attempt this daring feat?" Dumbledore asked in the sickeningly benign tone Severus had come to despise just a little more than lemon drops.

"In a few hours. Kill the Dark Lord, I mean. Then he lets the internal tension decimate the Dark Order to a number he will be able to control. The second part - usurpation – starts within a week."

"Perhaps we might use Mr Malfoy's inane effort to promote our own plans. Am I right in assuming that you are to take part in today's actions?"

"Right…"

"Well, then, Adrian…" _Pucey!_ "While Voldemort is occupied, I wish you to kill Harry Potter."

The talons on his shoulders clenched, and Severus had the sinking feeling that Fawkes assured that this time his allegiances wouldn't have another chance to swing.

S-D

The cell was tiny. Draco hated it from the moment Harry opened the door (how did he find it in the maze of identical narrow corridors remained mystery). Myrtle stopped pacing the perimeter of the room, floating a scant inch from the soiled floor, probably to avoid the sensation of whatever it was covered with. She gave them a sad, pained smile that reminded Draco of Harry's smiles.

"I'm sorry it took me so long," Harry said quietly. Myrtle floated over to them and waited until they crossed the threshold to engulf them both in an icy, incorporeal hug.

"I missed you. Both of you." She turned to Harry and passed her hand through his head. He shuddered, and Draco made sure to keep his arm around his lithe frame.

"Oh… That's unexpected," Myrtle said, wide-eyed, and sniggered. "That's better than the time Minerva had crush on… well, that's nice. I suppose."

Draco quizzically glanced at Harry, but the boy didn't pay attention to him.

"You're sure you don't want to stay around to see the show?" Harry asked. Myrtle drifted a few feet backwards and spread her arms.

"Stay, Harry? If I would have welcome _the end_ a month ago, now I yearn for it. Tom… Tom doesn't take it kindly when someone points out his mistakes. I doubt I would ever be able to leave this cell again. There is nothing for me left on this plane."

Draco finally understood the reason why they came here in the middle of the night. And he understood why Harry didn't want to go alone.

"You're leaving, aren't you?" It surprised even himself that he was feeling sad about it. But it was Myrtle's choice, and he respected it – after all, she was technically his elder.

Harry lit up a candle with a snap of his fingers, and left it levitated in the air. The action brought Draco's attention to him, and to what he was doing.

"And this took you four days to figure out? It's an hours work, at most!"

Harry blinked at him, then smiled and glanced at Myrtle again with a would-be nonchalant shrug.

"See? I told you he was much better at Dark Arts." He turned back. "Draco, I'm absolutely new to the branch. I never thought I would study any of this; I didn't know half the words in that book, and didn't understand the theories behind the stuff. Most of the time I spent back-tracking and searching for explanations to explanations of explanations."

Draco didn't have the opportunity to answer, because Myrtle spoke up faster.

"And that's how you're different from Tom. At sixteen, he was quite accomplished in Dark Arts – _deadly_." She snickered, but Harry obviously didn't consider it funny. He grumbled something that sounded like 'Yeah, playing with big dangerous snakes'. Anyway, Draco didn't catch the reference. Instead, it reminded him of something he had heard Myrtle say some time ago, and wanted to ask her about.

"The Dark Lord said you had common history?"

"Yes. He and I have _a lot_ in common. You wouldn't understand. But, think of this – I stayed behind as a ghost, and yet he wasn't expelled from the school."

Draco's eyebrows shot up, as the realisation dawned.

"He killed you? When he was still in school?"

"You didn't know?"

Draco shook his head. Harry disentangled himself from his grip a bit more roughly than was necessary and went on grumbling about 'framing Hagrid', which Draco was familiar with, but had no idea about its relevance to the current topic.

It was then when an icy-cold, _substantial_ hand caught his shoulder and coaxed him to lean down. He felt a quick peck on his cheek and was released before he could grasp what was happening.

"How…" he trailed off.

"It's a requirement of the process. I have to… kind of die again. That's why Harry made me corporeal."

"How?"

"It's magic," Myrtle replied, not really explaining. Draco resolved to let it go now, and do some research later. Harry wouldn't mind pointing out the correct books to him. "He did it when he lit the candle. It's… _metaphorical_, I suppose, to life. Symbolism. That's powerful in Dark rituals." That still explained nothing.

She gave him one last smile and turned to face Harry. The moment their eyes locked, Draco might have stopped existing. It was as if they were in a bubble where the outside world didn't reach.

"Kiss me before I have to go," she whispered.

"What?"

"Kiss me! No one ever kissed me."

It was strange and very, very _wrong_ to watch Harry lean down to the significantly smaller twelve-year-old, and touch his lips to hers. It was probably the only second year that would ever tightly grip the back of Harry's neck, force him closer, and plunder his mouth with her tongue. Draco could formulate the explanation – this was her only chance, so she was giving everything, _pouring_ _herself_ into that kiss – but he could never comprehend. He couldn't even imagine what fifty years of being stuck in a juvenile body that wasn't capable of touch, and watching all the students around her grow, must have been like for her. Now it was ending. He, perhaps, _could_ comprehend the desire for that end.

He wanted to say something along the lines of 'if you are done?', but forced himself to keep his mouth shut. Myrtle was – dare he think it – a friend. This was important to her, more important than Draco could fathom, and he wasn't going to spoil it for her.

The pair eventually disengaged, and Harry hugged the slightly-dazed girl before finally releasing her. She was already starting to fade.

"Thank you."

Harry retained his earnest expression, but nodded in recognition.

"You're welcome."

Myrtle looked past him at Draco and curtsied.

"Thank you. For everything. I almost made a grievous mistake – thanks for stopping me."

"You're welcome," Draco echoed and watched the ghost pale and the 'material' of her shape disperse. He felt a vague sense of loss, despite her having been dead long before he was even born.

Harry finally smiled.

"Good luck on your next great adventure," he said, apparently quoting someone. Draco could have hazarded a guess, but decided against it.

"Goodbye," she said, not at all unhappily.

"Bye," the two boys replied unison.

The candle snuffed out.

Myrtle was gone.

D-S

When Severus's feet touched solid ground, it was inside an unfamiliar room. He crashed into something, blinked to help his eyes adjust, but the darkness around him was impenetrable. He had been temporarily blinded by the phoenix's fire. Fawkes crooned so quietly, that Severus more felt than actually heard the sound. It was filled with regret and sorrow. He comprehended – Dumbledore's latest plans could be considered a treason. Perhaps the Headmaster went so far this time, that his familiar decided to abandon him?

He blinked several times, trying to erase the afterimages from his retina, but it didn't seem to work. Forced to stare at a yellow-green-purple-blue caleidoscope, he instead concentrated on his hearing. They – he and the bird – were alone. There was no sound of breathing, only barely audible scrapes… perhaps strained wood… though it was disconcertingly regular.

"Where did you bri-"

A door opening behind him cut off his question. Fawkes disappeared. Severus whirled around and blindly aimed his wand at the source of the noise.

His ears were struck by a scream.

The blast he sent was by no means controlled. It had been a long time since he had done accidental magic; then again, it had been a long time since he was blind, in unknown – probably dangerous – surroundings, and scared to the marrow. It was just a moment, a split second until he regained calm, but it was already too late. Whoever he had cast at was going to be wiped out of existence.

"Ha-"

It was Draco's voice. The first thing Severus saw apart from the afterimages burnt into his retina was green light. Something inside him broke.

"No-o," he sobbed, and was echoed by someone in front of him.

"Gods…" someone whispered. Severus sank on his knees and hid his face in his hands. In that instant he wouldn't have minded dying.


	30. Requiem

A/N: Great big thanks to everyone who reviewed – there are not many of you, and I cherish you all the more. And since you seem to like the story – voila, next installment. Enjoy and _review_.  
A/N2: Harry's farewell song to Myrtle is designed for the melody of 'A Stray Child' from See-Saw.  
Brynn

Chapter 30: Requiem

Harry couldn't seem to tear his eyes away from the spot where Myrtle had been for a long, long while. Draco waited patiently. He mourned Myrtle in his own way, but he also understood that what she and Harry had had was unique. Whatever it was.

"All white lilies in the world  
All red roses, all green grass  
I would lay down at your feet  
You with flowers encompass…"

He listened to Harry half-recite, half-sing. The echo returned the poem to them manifold, different parts of the former couplet at the same time, and created a kind of hum that produced the illusion of a group of mourners. It was like Harry was a legion pressed into one body.

"I'll…  
Give you yellow from the Sun,  
Blue from the sky, brown from Earth  
So long you've walked grey of dusk …  
I'm left with black of your death…

Hear my words to your soul

Memories of you'll never fade  
Tonight's the last for us all  
Tonight 'farewell' I bade…

He let the last whispers of echo fade out and turned around. There was a faint smile on his face.

"We can go now. Thanks for coming with me."

Draco just nodded. He wanted to thank Harry for taking him along, for letting him witness the ritual, for giving him a chance to say goodbye… and generally for being Harry. The words stuck in his throat, but apparently they would have been unnecessary, because Harry's smile widened and he nodded back.

It was an unusually quiet night in the Fort. For it being half past one in the morning, there should have been Death Eaters walking the corridors. But tonight halls ware deserted, hallways longer, darker and colder, as though the building itself was expressing its sorrow.

This illusion was dispelled quite suddenly, as they passed the first floor. A flash of red light, followed by a crash came from the same room. It didn't sound like figthing, though… He and Harry looked at each other and without the need for speaking came to a concensus. They abandoned their route and hurried along the corridor to a door that seemed vaguely familiar to Draco…

"The Waterlily Chamber," he said quietly. Harry nodded and pressed his ear to the door. He frowned, pushed one wing open, and stepped through. Draco followed right behind him, easily seeing over his shoulder.

Then there was light and Draco screamed.

D-N

There were little shuffling sounds and creaking coming from the room. Harry straightened and opened the door. There was no attack coming, so he crossed the threshold, aware of Draco close behind him. His Tom-part trickled into his conscious just enough to light the torches on the walls.

Draco screamed.

All blood drained from Harry's face. He had only had an instance to assess the room, but it was enough. The creaking sound he had heard before was made by a rope hanging from an engraved beam. On its opposite end, gently swinging in to the rhythm of the creaks was a lifeless white Narcissa Malfoy. Her glassy, bulging eyes stared straight at them and it made Harry's stomach turn, but he had no time to pay attention to it, because on the carpet, right in front of them, stood an unbalanced Snape, who started whirling around, shocked by the scream.

"Ha-" Draco tried speaking, but then came a blast of raw power from Snape. It must have been a reflex, and – as expeced from a man of Snape's nature and occupation – it was deadly.

Harry also reacted reflexively. Tom took over, stretched out his arms, and built a sphere that immitated the Dark Lord's shielding spell. It shone green as it swallowed Snape's magic.

The chamber fell into silence. Draco seemed to be in shock – pale and shaking. Snape stared somewhere above them, and, though the dark colour of his eyes prevented Harry/Tom from seeing how dilated his pupils were, he was apparent that the man couldn't see. That would have explained that uncharacteristical show of fear.

Then Snape did something Harry wouldn't have thought him capable of – he sobbed.

"No-o…"

Harry didn't watch him sink to the ground; he put an arm around Draco's waist to steady him.

Narcissa remained an untouched, dead pendulum.

"Gods…"

N-S

"Sir?" said a familiar voice quietly. Severus was too shaken to respond. "Professor," the same voice urged. Severus remained frozen.

"Sit here. Just a moment. Please." Those words weren't for him, but even had they been, they wouldn't have been able to penetrate the haze of despair his mind was clouded with. "Come on, brother. Don't look there. Look at me. Focus on me."

Someone other than Severus sobbed.

Then Severus's hands were pried off his face, and he saw dim orange glow. The fingers on his wrists were warm and gentle, and he resigned himself to them. Then his left hand was released, and his head tilted up.

"… hurt…" the other person choked between sobs.

"Yes, he is," admitted the first one, close enough to Severus to startle him. "Can you help?"

Then there was a different set of palms on him. These were cold and clammy and made him shiver as they touched his face, but he didn't care.

The world flashed shining white. His eyes closed by themselves, and after a few seconds the hands released him.

"Better?" the first one asked.

"'Arry…"

Severus opened his eyes and saw. He saw a chamber with floral motives everywhere, and him sitting in the centre of the floor. And he saw Draco, distraught but _alive_ Draco sitting next to him and desperately hanging onto Potter, who still had Severus's right wrist in his grip.

The boys were both crying, Potter most likely only because Draco was – it was a typical Gryffindorish reaction – but it still didn't explain Draco's anguish…

Then he met Potter's eyes. They were half-green, half-red and colder than usually. He held Severus's gaze for a moment and then looked above and beyond Severus's shoulder.

Severus followed the direction… and understood. He was only slightly disgusted with himself when he felt nothing.

S-N

Harry was becoming used to this mid-stand between the two parts of his conscious, when he was at the same time both 'Harry' and 'Tom', and neither of them. It was a curious state: he had two semi-independent sets of thoughts, emotions and instincts. It was sometimes difficult to make sense of, and to stop himself from reacting in ways he didn't want to react – like casting Crucio on the nearest standing person – but the advantages were incontestable. It was convenient that he could let 'Harry' worry about Draco – and a little bit about Snape, too – and take care of him, while 'Tom' worked on piecing the puzzle of what happened in there together.

At first it was suggested to keep the Potions Master blind for a while longer and use the situation to force answers out of the man, but he didn't want to deal with a hysterical Snape and Draco in shock at the same time. Thus he solved both troubles at once, having one Heal the other, and stabilise in the backlash.

"Better?" he asked quietly, pushing strands of hair out of Draco's face to see his expression. The boy was lost. Despite having claimed that his mother wasn't all that important to him, her death itself was a blow. The means she had used to end her life, plus the heinuous way he had found out were too much to cope with for him. For the son of Lucius Malfoy, Draco was still strikingly thin-skinned.

A pair of tears was sliding down his cheeks, and another already forming in the corners of his eyes.

"'Arry…" he mumbled, and threw his arm around Harry's neck. Harry felt a lone tear he had for Draco leaking. That scene was the first Snape saw when he opened his mended eyes.

It was obvious that the man had no idea what had happened in the room, and it rose a new wave of questions – as 'how did he get there'. Harry felt disinclined to say it aloud because of Draco, so he caught Snape's attention, aimed it at the hung witch, and used the moment to cast a mild Confundus. The man was unlikely to answer his questions while fully conscious – no matter the means of persuasion Tom had used on him – and Harry wanted answers. Moreover, it would be impossible for Snape to consciously tell a lie.

Snape seemed surprised, but not truly affected by the presence of the dead woman. Harry expected nothing less. He cast a one-way Silencing Spell on Draco and focused on the teacher.

"What had happened to your eyes?" The Confundus worked well – Snape didn't even hesitate before replying.

"Phoenix fire."

"Fawkes's?"

Snape nodded. Having a civil conversation with him was strange, but it filled Harry with a morbid sense of accomplishment. After he managed this, he might be able to do just about anything.

"Why did he attack you?"

"He didn't attack me. He evacuated me from Hogwarts. There is a defect Death Eater in the Dark Order. He gave Dumbledore condemning information about me."

This statement coming from Snape was wonderfully ironic, but the charm prevented the man from realising it. 'Harry' suppressed the urge to laugh and let 'Tom' concentrate on the important things – like the identity of the turncoat, his intentions, and how much did he disclose.

"Who?"

"Adrian Pucey. He informed Dumbledore about a fraction within the Dark Order that is attempting a revolt. Lucius Malfoy and his accomplices intend to murder the Dark Lord tonight. Dumbledore ordered Pucey to use the diversion to kill you."

While Harry doubted that someone like Pucey would be able to kill him, there was no telling how many people he might harm in the effort. Harry was deeply grateful to Fawkes for both the information and saving Snape's life. There would be no going back to Hogwarts for the man, but at least he wasn't dead. Perhaps he would have a chance to speak to the phoenix someday, and ask it _why_ did it decide to go against Dumbledore.

"Do you know what happened to Narcissa?"

"No."

"Do you have any other information I need to know right now?" Harry asked uncertainly. If the Confundus worked like Veritaserum, he might have been bombarded with absolutely useless facts within seconds…

"No."

Harry nodded, cancelled the spell on Draco, and gently disentangled himself.

"Brother…" he said quietly. Draco looked up, bleary-eyed. "I have to leave for a while. Don't go anywhere." He pushed Draco at Snape, and the boy reflexively clutched at the person in front of him. The Potions Master didn't know what to do.

"Take care of him," Harry half-explained, half-ordered. He glimpsed Snape's arms tightening around the crying young man before shutting the door and setting up wards that even Tom would be hard-pressed to dismantle. No one was going to hurt his little brother.  
No, today it was Harry Potter hunting the hunters.

A/N3: I know Draco is technically the _big_ brother, but this is Harry/Tom's perception. Tom is far older than Draco in all ways, and Harry himself knows more about the world and is _mentally_ older.


	31. Ecce, Harry!

A/N: Well… another chapter. Yes. Beta-read by **shuichi'sgirl** (Katie). A hippogrif-sized thank you!

Bonus question: Who'll figure out Dumbledore's knocking pattern?

Chapter 31: Ecce, Harry!

Knock, scrape, pause, scrape, knock-knock.

M-H

"What?" Hermione yelped, startled from sleep by something hot and alive. Fortunately, the curtains around her bed were closed and spelled for privacy, so she didn't wake up Parvati and Lavender. She had reflexively reached for her wand, but upon opening her eyes realised that her late-night visitor brought light with himself, so she had no need for a Lumos charm.

"Fawkes?! What are you doing here?"

She tried to slow her breathing. Had they been discovered? Did Dumbledore know what she had done? Would she be expelled? Or worse? Would they send her to Azkaban?

The bird crooned and sang a few wistful notes. Hermione reached out and petted it in an attempt to console it. She had no idea how to treat an upset bird (only that she should keep out of the reach of its beak). Fawkes let her stroke his feathers for a few moments, and then shifted and slipped something into her lap.

Hermione had no idea where he had hidden it, or how was he able to keep it on himself, but she recognised the object immediately – it was Harry's Invisibility Cloak, neatly folded into a small square.

"Thanks, but…" She had no idea what to do with it. Granted, it would be useful for her visits by Voldemort's, but why had Fawkes brought it to her? And where had he found it?

The phoenix tugged on the corner of the fabric, unfolded it, and stretched it across Hermione's belly.

"I should wear it?" Fawkes chirped. "Now?" Another chirp.

Wide awake since the initial shock, Hermione didn't really mind. Whatever it was he wanted her to do, it must have been important. So she crawled out from under the blanket, stood on her bed, and shrugged into the Cloak.

Fawkes landed on her forearm and then they were gone.

H-M

Minerva's chair scraped against the floorboards as she pushed herself away from her desk, and she walked to the door to admit the Headmaster. It was a rare occasion when he visited any of the teachers in their offices, and it filled her with dread. Nowadays all important news was bad news.

Indeed, there he stood, grim and looking every day of his one hundred and fifty years.

"Albus…" she said, and nodded to him in greeting. "Come on in."

She lifted a stack of sixth-years' essays from the armchair to free it, and put them on top of the second-years' latest test that waited to be marked. The Headmaster sank into the upholstery, and wearily surveyed the room.

"Minerva…"

She conjured a cup of tea and pressed it into the unresisting wizard's hands.

"What happened, Albus?"

He sighed.

"It is my great sorrow that I must tell you… Severus has betrayed us."

Minerva gasped. The boy had had a rough deal, and there was always something sinister – something Dark – about him, but… She didn't want to believe he betrayed them. Albus knew better, though – he always knew better. Minerva blinked away her tears, and covered the single sob that escaped her with a choke that might have passed as a reaction to the surprise.

Albus gravely nodded and set out to explain.

"With the help of Draco Malfoy he kidnapped Harry Potter and turned him over to Tom Riddle. He also knew about the Hogsmeade Crucifixion, but chose not to alert me, claiming that he had the interest of the students on his heart."

Minerva gasped, though not in outrage as the Headmaster likely interpreted it. If Severus failed to report something so crucial, then he most certainly protected someone – whether it were the students, or the mysterious subject of the boy's new-found emotions. About Potter, though…

… she didn't know what to think.

"What will happen to him now?" she asked, rather upset. Albus might have acted as a jolly grandfather with an unhealthy sweet-tooth most of the time, but she had witnessed him lead two wars, and he was razor-sharp steel when the matters became serious. There was nothing she – nothing _anyone_ – could do for Severus now.

"I honestly do not know, Minerva – he fled the castle tonight, before I had the chance to stop him."

Was it wrong of Minerva to feel relief? Did her position as a teacher make her over-protective about her students (which in her head still applied to Severus Snape)? Should she have wished Severus dead?

She knew that all three answers were identical – yes. But it didn't change the fact that she was happy her boy had escaped.

M-H

Hermione gasped and stepped from one foot to another and back. The stony floor was cold, at first making her toes ache, and now it only made them numb. She cursed herself for the idiocy of not wearing shoes, but none of that mattered right now, because Fawkes transferred her to a corridor in front of Professor McGonagall's personal quarters and instructed her – as much as a bird with accordingly limited ability of communication could – to listen.

She did listen, and felt guilty and outraged, and sincerely despised Dumbledore for the way he twisted the truth and used people who looked up to him. It was dirty, rotten, and just plain mean. She couldn't grasp, though, why Fawkes wanted her to know about this. Was this shameless deceit enough for the phoenix to go behind his owner's – friend's, whatever – back?

"Did you know about Snape?"

The answer was a negative chirp.

"Did you know he fled?"

This time Fawkes let out a positive croon and cocked his head to the side. Hermione's eyes narrowed.

"You took him away." Croon. "You took him to Vol- to the Dark fortress." Croon. "He knows he shouldn't come back?" Another croon. Hermione nodded and sighed. "I wish I knew what it is you want me to do."

Fawkes chirped and stepped over on her arm. He flashed her back to the dormitory, took the Invisibility Cloak into his talons, and was gone.

H-N

"Ahh… I smell a change in this fall-night's airrr…" Lucius Malfoy slurred from beneath his cape. The group of similarly clothed figures around him drank his every word. He surveyed his little following, slightly unhappy that it would be further reduced tonight, but grinning with anticipation. He was reminded of Cousin Bella, who used to feel like this before bloodshed. Well… Azkaban leaves its mark on everyone.

"Rrrememberrr… Do not fight with otherrr Death Eaterrrs…Tonight's objective is to kill the Lorrrd…" It bothered him ever so slightly that, despite attempts, he was still unable to pronounce the disgrace's chosen name aloud with confidence. He opted for the safe 'Lord', and it seemed that, as accustomed as his followers were to calling _it_ by that honorific, none of them noticed.

"Cast Invisibility Spells on yourrrselves. Worrrk togetherrr. Tonight, ourrr forrrce is in ourrr numberrrs."

N-N

Adrian watched as the black-caped figures around him disappeared, one by one. Quietly, they trickled into the Audience Hall and set out to its far side entrance to Dark Lord's quarters.

Fools, the lot of them. Most would die tonight, and Lucius would use the rest to fight his opposition within the ranks of the Dark Order. He was better off working for ol' Dumbledore. Snape couldn't have been as clever as he fancied himself, if he gave up such a chance. Adrian saw his teacher's mistakes, and learned from them.

Invisible and unnoticed, he parted from the unit and aimed for the staircase. There was a ticket to his freedom waiting on the second floor.

N-S

"Where's Harry…" Draco asked quietly once he calmed down enough to speak.

"I don't know," Severus replied honestly. The brat had just disappeared on them, casting wards around the room that kept them inside as sure as they kept anyone – but perhaps Dumbledore and the Dark Lord – outside. It shouldn't have been possible, but Severus came to accept that despite all his faults, Harry Potter had a penchant for achieving the impossible.

It took a moment for Draco to process his words, but when it was done, Severus knew. The body in his arms stiffened, and a pair of red-rimmed, grey eyes stared up at him in shock and… fear? His heart clenched. After all those years of threatening his peers, intimidating his students and alienating his colleagues with cruelty, he had found a person he didn't want to be afraid of him.

"You…" Draco breathed, quivering.

"I." He couldn't say anything more. His throat was clenched and he stared, and stared, and stared, as though he had never seen this creature before. Draco in his grief was singularly beautiful. Mesmerising.

Severus felt a stab of guilt, but compared to his other impulses it was pitifully weak. He reached up and wiped Draco's last tear with his thumb. He was so, so sorry for whatever he did to this boy that made him so afraid.

"Why do you hate him?" Draco asked, and it was the last question Severus expected. He had no answer to that. Why did he hate Potter? Why did he… have feelings for Draco? Why did he decide to side with the Dark Lord in the end, when Dumbledore gave him a chance to atone for his crimes? Why was he here tonight, holding this wonderful person in his arms, and not dead or rotting in Azkaban as he deserved?

"There is no answer, is there?" Draco said, much calmer than before. He wrenched himself out of Severus's embrace and stood up, with his back turned to the corpse of his mother. He threw his head back and stared at the ceiling. "No answer. No reason. And one innocent's personal Hell. But I have no right to judge you… no right."

He sighed and hung his head down, still not facing either Severus or the reality of Narcissa's death.

"Change, Snape. I did, and for all the bad things that happened, it was worth it. Harry does not deserve the way you treat him. He deserves to be stood on a pedestal and worshipped, but he refused that existence. Give him respect. And I might consider giving respect to you." Draco turned around and Severus saw that this was no child, no crushed boy. This was a strong, determined young man who had _his_ respect, admiration and – ultimately – his heart.

S-N

Adrian, as any proactive Slytherin, was proficient when it came to skulking in shadows. He didn't much trust his supposed invisibility – there had to be tens of charms, artifacts and potions that allowed their user to see through it. Otherwise the spell would have been much more popular.

The corridor he walked now was one of the supposedly unused parts of the fortress, and thus so dark that there were no shadows. Or, the other way around – it was one vast shadow, which allowed him to move freely.

Adrian didn't expect to encounter anyone in the middle of this corridor.

When the torches simultaneously flared to life, he froze. The two or three seconds of panic turned out to be too many. In total silence, disturbed only by the sound of his breathing, he felt the tingle of magic as it struck him and his muscles went rigid.

'Body-Bind.'

In the first instance he was gobsmacked; then came anger and, eventually, when his brain caught up with the situation, fear. He blinked, trying to dispel the afterimages, but the sudden light had blinded him and prevented him from seeing what he wouldn't be able to defend against anyway…

A green shape with glowing red eyes-

'A demon,' Adrian thought.

-glid toward him, and then there was only pain and darkness.

N-N

Harry trusted Tom to be able to fend off a few rogue Death Eaters that came barging in, tripping over their egos, but that didn't stop him from going downstairs to make sure Lucius didn't get away. Then again, leaving Pucey traipsing across the fort and risking getting attacked from behind was not too feasible, so he decided to take a slightly longer route than the beeline. As much as he disliked the idea of leaving a Confounded Snape, a hysterical Draco and Draco's dead mother alone under a siege (despite the sturdiness of his wards), this was something that had to be done right now.

That was why he stopped on the stairs, leant against the railing, yawned, and waited for the traitor to enter. There were no doors in the corridor, and the artifacts hung on the walls – weapons, magical objects, trophies and torch-holders – conveyed no hiding place. Once Pucey came into sight, there was no way for him to escape.

When the man finally entered, something half-familiar swelled within Harry. This… person… had come to _kill_ (himself, but also) _Draco_. Harry let go as his protective instincts rung, and allowed Tom-part to completely take over.

Adrian Pucey had walked through the archway invisible, but the spell was dispersed as soon as it touched the atmosphere filled with Harry/Tom's wrath. The torches lit up, and the man squinted, which was his very last action.

Harry/Tom approached him, deciding that it was about the highest time to go and see how Lucius Malfoy had ended. Passing by the petrified Death Eater, he calmly crushed his throat with a careless flick of his wrist.

Strangely, he didn't feel anything.

N-S

There were so many things Severus could say – _wanted_ to say. But ultimately most of them fell into the category of statements that would alienate Draco further. He could scorn, insult, and belittle Potter every day… it had long since become natural to him. On the other hand, respect itself was something he was hard-pressed to exhibit. He feared both the Dark Lord and the Headmaster, and, to a much smaller degree, Minerva McGonagall… he hated his father and the Marauders… he cared about Draco's feelings… but Potter was a mere underfed creature that someone found under a rock, pulled out into sunlight, painted with fantastic colours and set on display. There was nothing worth respect there.

"I shall attempt it," he said as diplomatically as he could. Draco snorted, which Severus translated as a comment to his lack of substantial response. There was a long stretch of silence and Severus watched as slowly, gradually the young man's mask crumbled and fell. Cloudy eyes strayed to the still form of the dead woman, before being tightly pressed shut.

Severus stood up and blocked Draco's view in that direction. In the end the blond re-opend his eyes and wearily stared.

"What happened here before you healed my eyes?"

Draco quivered; a pair of crystalline tears escaped from behind the tightly pressed eyelids.

"I saw Mo- Narcissa… There was enough magic to burn us to crisps. And he just… I don't know… he _absorbed_ it. Like…" Draco stretched his arms in front of himself and mimicked the action. His hands were shaking. Severus thrice damned himself, caught the boy's shoulders and pressed him against himself. Draco succumbed to the sobs.

N-N

Harry/Tom didn't even stopped to ponder the probability of receiving torture that would send him back into Draco's care as he crossed the Audience Hall and entered the Dark Lord's personal chambers – the password-protected door was open.

Tom never left it open. So Lucius and his sycophants were already inside – and for some incomprehensible reason neglected to leave a guard by the entrance. That they managed to get inside was a small wonder by itself.

Harry/Tom only glanced over the rooms he passed. First was a small hall with stairs that led _below_, then came a hallway with huge windows that showed a small enclosed peristyle courtyard. Here he had to climb over a small pile of three or four bodies – he wasn't so sure – of former Death Eaters who triggered a trap. Then there was something that looked like a bit of an indoor jungle – for Nagini, no doubt, even though such care from the Dark Lord would surprise anyone else. The room, however, was a dead end, so he had to return to the hallway and try the second door – opposite Nagini's nest.

It used to be a parlour, most likely, but right now it was a mortuary. It shocked Harry/Tom to see that Malfoy had managed to gather almost twenty followers, only from the Inner and Second Circle. His continued existence and presence within the Fourtower Black Fort must have been a powerful argument to sway so many to ally themselves with him… against the Dark Lord. It still was a folly… very obviously.

The unnatural stillness in the room was the worst. Tom should have been there, even if he were there casting a Crucio on Harry… but he should have been there. But nothing broke the silence…

Until Harry noticed the Silencing Ward on what must have been Tom's bedchamber. It was a weird prospect – the Dark Lord _sleeping_ – but, in spite of his many attempts to change it, Tom still remained biologically human.

Harry/Tom pushed the door open.

Lucius Malfoy under a purposeless Invisibility Spell that Harry barely registered knelt on one knee and struck down with a hideous weapon – a piece of metal Harry hesitated to call dagger with all the little catches designed to shred flesh… blood sprayed the blond's pale face and he stood up, brandishing his wand… the Dark Lord sank to the floor with a groan of pain which Harry could feel the faint echo of…

Tom looked up and his eyes met Lucius's. A sneer of derision crossed his face. Lucius mirrored the expression and raised his wand.

"Avada-"


End file.
